


Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

by Cbear2470



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Action, Aged-Down Tony Stark, Because you know damn well why, College Student Peter Parker, Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Peter is not trying to cast them in a rom-com together he swears, Really really slow burn, Romance, Slow Burn, games of twenty questions that go way past twenty questions, or maybe, queer characters talking about their queerness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-06-11 17:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 63,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cbear2470/pseuds/Cbear2470
Summary: Fuck, he was so drunk.So fucking drunk.And lost.Tony was just trying to take a piss and get back to his drunken misery. He wasn't exactly in the mood to find a kid lying crumpled in a pile of trash. He certainly wasn't in the mood to deal with a kid who even whileliterally lying broken in a pile of garbagehas somehow still managed to be the most annoying kid Tony has ever met.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I love Peter. There are no good ships for him though. Should I just move on from this and read some nice Peter centric Avenger's fics or something? Probably. But I also love Tony Stark paired with literally anyone. And so here we are, trying to take a ship that I should probably let sink and maybe turn it into an healthy relationship.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony swore the kid rolled his eyes. God, couldn’t it have just been an addict overdosing he found? Instead he was stuck here trying to look after this petulant… not a child who somehow had enough of a personality to sass him even though he was in too much pain to stand up straight.

Fuck, he was so drunk.

_So fucking drunk._

And lost.

He’d been dragged out to Citi Field that night for a Met’s game. A big investor of his company had offered him tickets to come watch the game from his suite, and it was a sign of good faith that he took the man up on his invitation, Pepper had said.

So, he, Pepper and a small entourage of other business-related people that Tony barely considered acquaintances, even though now they were supposed to hang out like friends, had all gone out to far deeper Queen’s than Tony thought anyone who didn’t live there could possibly ever have a reason to go. And yet for some reason they’d built a giant fucking stadium there. For people to play sports things.

And the thing was, Tony wasn’t really a sports person. He didn’t _hate_ them, per se. He just didn’t really care about them. But the one good thing about sports was how they were paired with things he did like. Like alcohol. And food. And men and women in tight and/or little clothes.

But mostly alcohol.

But then after an hour or so at Mr. Investor Sports Guys open bar, he’d gotten _belligerent_ and Pepper had tried to send him home. But he couldn’t find whatever car she’d supposedly called for him, so he’d decided to go try and walk it off in the park nearby, or something, but then the park had turned into a neighborhood. And the neighborhood never seemed to end. And so now he was just wandering. Or supposedly, so he’d told himself, he was maybe looking for a cab. Or a street corner he wouldn’t mind standing until a car could come to him. Or maybe even a train.

But he wasn’t really looking. He was mostly just stumbling along.

And then he realized how much he needed to fucking piss.

Finally actually paying a bit of attention to his surroundings, he noticed there was a small parking lot beside him, really more of an oversized alley, behind what might have been a pharmacy. But it didn’t really matter what it was though, because there was a nice dumpster he could take a leak behind while minimizing the chances of somehow getting arrested for public indecency.

But just as he’d gotten his dick out and managed to aim it probably not at his own shoes he heard a groan.

And well, Tony wasn’t exactly in the mood to interact with anyone right now. And certainly not someone who was groaning in a parking lot in Fuck-Knows-Where, Queens.

He was making to quickly tuck himself away and get going when he heard another noise. Not a groan this time, but something more like a whimper. And for some reason it didn’t seem like the kind of noise an alcoholic or a crack addict or whoever else might frequent parking lots in the middle of the night would make.

And so, not thinking too much about it, as appeared to be that evenings theme, instead of leaving the parking lot and getting back to trying to find a way back to Manhattan, Tony made his way deeper into the parking lot behind the building.

And then he saw movement.

He approached slowly, although gracelessly—still too drunk for any kind of grace—and froze when he saw what was before him.

For a second, too many seconds, actually, it didn’t even process what he was seeing.

But then, somehow, his sloshed brain decoded the visual before him into a boy, or maybe a young man was more apt, lying on a crushed pile of trash, somehow both sprawled out and crumpled looking at the same time.

And maybe it wasn’t the best reaction. Maybe he should have had more urgency. But when he realized that he’d stumbled upon a kid looking worse for wear in a pile of trash, Tony sighed aloud as he realized he’d have to do something about this.

Because as much as Tony Stark tried to convince the world he was an asshole, as much as Tony Stark actually was an asshole, leaving a kid passed out and injured in an alley was too far past the moral and ethical grey he usually preferred to inhabit.

Even if that moral and ethical grey made him a little less than honored feeling at the chance to help someone in need.

“Um, kid? Are you alright?” Tony asked, kicking at the pile of trash awkwardly.

The kid groaned.

“Should I call someone for you? An, er, ambulance maybe?”

The kid made a noise, more purposeful sounding, but still unrecognizable to Tony.

So, of course, he leaned over and reached out to place a hand on the boy’s arm to see if that would get his attention.

The kid immediately startled upright, jolting backwards and away with a pained groan.

“Don’t!”

“Woah, sorry,” Tony said, instinctively putting his hands in the air and taking a step back. For a second they just stared at each other, Tony noticing the bruises on the kids face and the dirt on his clothes, the kid noticing god knows what about Tony. “Do you know where you are, kid?” he asked after a moment.

The kid mumbled something.

“What?”

“I’m not a kid,” the kid said, his voice rough and defensive.

“What?”

“I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-one. A real grown-up.”

_Because real adults were definitely known for their use of words like “grown-up” out loud and without at least a sense of irony._

“Really? Cause you look about twelve.”

And the kid did, a little anyway. He looked pretty small, his frame rather compact from what Tony could see of it, and his features were soft and boy-ish. The longer he looked at the boy he could see the traces of not-a-twelve-year-old in him—muscular shoulders, pronounced Adams apple, an angular jaw underneath his fleshy cheeks. But even if the kid was twenty-one, that was still almost a decade and a half younger than him. Which definitely made the kid a kid to him at least.

“Well I’m not. Do you want to see my ID?”

Tony didn’t say anything in response to that and instead changed the subject as his head began to throb. God, he was suddenly definitely way too sober and too tired and too not sitting on his own sofa in his own penthouse with his own gin and tonic, like he really, really, wished he was doing to deal with this.

“So are you alright, kid? Do you know where you are?”

“Corner of 108th and 64th.”

_Huh, was that where they were? And were was that again?_

“Okay there’s one answer. You still keep avoiding the other questions though. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

And with a stubborn look on what apparently was a baby face, the kid tried to stand up.

It didn’t go very well though, it would seem, as within seconds the kid ended up on his knees, doubled over and grasping his torso before giving up and falling backwards with a groan so that he was sitting on his heels, hunched over slightly as he grasped his ribs protectively.

“Really, should I call an ambulance?”

The kid laughed, or well, laughed once and then coughed and then groaned in pain.

“Didn’t you hear? Ambulances are out, Ubers and in.”

“What?”

“Do you know how much ambulances cost?”

“No?”

Tony swore the kid rolled his eyes. God, couldn’t it have just been an addict overdosing he found? Instead he was stuck here trying to look after this petulant… not a child who somehow had enough of a personality to sass him even though he was in too much pain to stand up straight.

“Well can I call you an Uber then?”

“Do you know how much Uber’s cost?”

“Less than an ambulance?” Tony guessed.

Then there was silence again.

“Well, you’re clearly hurt, and I can’t just leave you here,” Tony tried. “I’ll pay for a car to take you to a hospital, don’t worry about it. Hell I’ll pay for an ambulance. A helicopter to airlift you out of here if I have to.”

The kid said nothing and looked down into his lap and wrapped his arms around himself a bit tighter.

“What?” Tony asked, fighting the urge to let out an exasperated sigh.

“I don’t want to go to a hospital.”

“And why would that be?”  Tony sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

“Because they ask questions.”

_What?_

“Are you in some sort of trouble, kid? In a gang or something?” Tony asked.

“What, no! You think _I’m_ in a _gang_?”

“I don’t know kid, maybe!” Tony groaned as the exasperation finally overtook him. But then he looked at the kid again and noticed the kicked puppy look on his face and Tony sighed. “Look, I’m a little drunk and a little lost and now I’ve found some ki— _grown up_ hurt in a parking lot and I, despite the fact that I’m pretty drunk, feel responsible for you now. So if you could just tell me how to help you so I can clear my conscious and go home, I’d appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to feel responsible for me, sir, I’m fine.”

 _Sir_? Was this punishment for him calling the kid “kid’?

“Well too late, we’re already here.”

The kid was looking down again, still hugging himself defensively.

“Come on kid, let me help you. Please. At least let me get you home,” Tony offered. The kid had to live somewhere, right? Probably in Queens. Fucking Queens.

“I don’t know what to do,” the boy said softly.

“What?” Tony asked.

“I—I can’t go home, not like this,” the boy admitted, looking up at Tony with his eyes almost comically wide and pleading. Now it was Tony who wanted to roll his eyes. This kid, man. What the fuck.

“And you won’t go to a hospital?” Tony sighed.

The kid said nothing.

“So you’re just going to sit here all night then? And hope that time magically heals you?”

That earned a shrug, which was immediately followed by a pained gasped.

Tony sighed. He really wanted to go home. He didn’t want to be standing in this fucking parking lot anymore. If he was at his penthouse then he would at least be equipped to _try_ and help the kid, since apparently that’s what he was stuck doing. At least at home he probably had band aids. Definitely ice. Probably some Tylenol. And at home with Jarvis he had better access to billions of dollars in other resources that could actually help the kid just in case he needed more than ice and band aids and pain killers.

His unrelenting desire to go home and not be here anymore wasn’t selfish at all then, really. If he went home, he could be a better helper. A more upstanding citizen.

Maybe the mayor would give him another medal for service to the community or some other kind of bullshit.

And so when the words came out of his mouth to make the proposal to the kid, he did honestly think it was a good idea and pure hearted idea.

“Come home with me then.”

The kid looked up quickly, his eyes wide.

“What? Sir, I think you might _really_ have the wrong idea about me.”

Tony furrowed his brow as the implications dawned on him.

“What? Fuck, no kid, I didn’t—Jeez. If I want someone bent over for me, I want them doing so by choice, not because they literally can’t stand up straight. No, I have a spare room, and friend who’s a doctor who probably doesn’t owe me a favor but won’t question it if I call one in. We’ll get you checked out and get you some rest and you can scurry back down the Queens Midtown Tunnel rabbit hole tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.”

“So does that sound alright?”

The kid shrugged.

“How about this. I’ll call the car. It will best case scenario take twenty minutes for one to get here. You can make the choice when it gets here. Whether or not to get in, whether to go home with me or for us to drop you off somewhere else, alright? But at least maybe that will be enough to morally absolve me, okay kid?”

The kid mumbled something.

“Speak up, kid.”

“Alright. I mean, yes sir.”

Tony sighed and took out his phone, realizing he had at least a dozen texts and missed calls from Pepper. He didn’t bother to read them and instead just opened a reply.

“108th and 64th was it?” Tony asked as he sent a text request to Pepper to get him the hell out of here.

“Yes sir, behind the Rite Aid.”

“Great. Just great,” Tony said, so profoundly ready for the night to be over with.

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But again, this was a hurt, irritating, stubborn kid, he found in a fucking pile of garbage. So, Tony looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the totally solid response for the first chapter. Here's another :)

It took Tony far, far longer than it should have to realize that the kid, although still managing to hold himself in that slightly slumped kneeling position, was still more or less sitting in the pile of trash Tony had found him with.

It took a second after that though to shift his frustration from himself—how was he such an oblivious idiot when he was trying to be the good guy and help this poor kid? —back onto the kid.

Why didn’t he fucking ask Tony to help him move? The kid clearly had at least a bit of a mouth on him, couldn’t he have used it to be like, “ _Hey, Tony, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kinda sitting in a pile of trash and it would be great if you could give me a hand sir?”_

But first of all, the kid didn’t know his name. Which was a good thing, probably. The only thing that could have possibly made this night any worse was if this kid had turned out to be some kind of fan of his. But while Tony had a bit more media celebrity than some billionaires, one of the differences between Hollywood celebrities and tech and weapons manufacturing billionaire playboys was that no matter how many magazines he was on the cover of, the average person could not recognize him out of context.

And second of all, he imagined the kid, Mr. I-Can’t-Go-To-The-Hospital-I-Can’t-Go-Home was too proud to possibly consider asking Tony for help. Because of course why would this fucking kid make it easy on Tony, when instead he could, out of some sort of misplaced sense of pride and strength, actually end up just being totally inconvenient to the person that was trying to help him.

But just because he was not thrilled to be here and honestly finding it way too easy to be a little pissed off at the kid, said kid none the less was still kneeling hunched over in a pile of trash.

“Hey kid, do you think if I help you we can get you out of the trash heap without damaging you any further?” Tony asked as he knelt down next to the young man and felt some sort of trash slime seep into his pants. Fuck.

“It’s fine, really,” the kid said quickly.

“That’s not an answer to the question I asked.”

Tony watched as the kids face hardened stubbornly for a moment, his lips pursing together, his eyes narrowing a bit. But after a moment it softened, and he sighed.

“I don’t know. Not moving was working for me.”

Tony in his exhaustion found himself barking out a laugh, although what the kid had said was hardly all that funny with or without the context of their rather unfortunate situation.

“Well here,” Tony said, wrapping an arm around the kid. “Lean on me and try to push yourself up and I’ll pull you at the same time. If it hurts too much, just yell and we’ll stop. But if we can’t get you up and to the car when it gets here, we’ve got a pretty big problem. On the count of three, okay?”

Tony looked at the kid who thankfully without any protest just nodded as he slowly let go of his torso and anchored his hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“One, two, three—” Tony counted off and then stood up, pulling the kid up beside him. The kid stifled a groan that eventually slipped from his lips as a pained gasp, but somehow after only a few seconds they were both standing, the kid leaning heavily on him, Tony’s foot sinking into something that felt squishy in the worst kind of way.

“Do you think you’re good to take a step?” Tony asked, and the kid nodded.

“I really hope you decide to come with me kid, because I can show you a world full of magic and wonder,” Tony muttered as they took slow, jilted steps out of the trash pile and over to the edge of the parking lot where they’d eventually meet the car. “It’s called Manhattan, and I’m never leaving it again, and if someone makes me we’re taking a helicopter right from the roof of my building. I’m not going to JFK or La Guardia or certainly not Newark.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Queens, sir,” the kid stated, and Tony could tell immediately he’d hit some kind of hometown-pride nerve.

“Whatever kid,” Tony sighed, not interested in having this or any disagreement right now. Instead he led the kid over to the side of the pharmacy closest to the street corner and let him lean up against the wall. “Just rest and make up your mind about what you wanna do, alright, the car should be here any minute.”

The kid said nothing and so they waited in silence. Pepper had said the fastest the car would probably get there would be half an hour, and that was probably only all of ten minutes ago. Tony found himself wishing he’d bothered to call the car the second he’d found the kid, so it would be here already.

That would have been the smooth, cool, suave rich guy thing to do, wouldn’t it? To offer to rescue someone and then have a big black shiny car show up a second later.

It would have definitely have been cool. Tony wasn’t feeling very cool tonight though, certainly not now, covered in garbage juice, with a stress induced premature hangover migraine, leaning up against a Rite Aid with some beat up looking kid in some part of Queens he’d never been to before and certainly never intended to go again.

Tony had found himself in a lot of sticky and/or problematic situations before, but this was definitely the least cool he could ever remember feeling. He was Tony Stark after all, effortless cool was his brand.

And that was when he realized he’d invited the kid home with him. To his home in New York. Which was the fucking Penthouse of Stark Tower. And while the kid might not have recognized him so far, but he was definitely going to put two and two together.

Tony couldn’t help but groan.

The thought about the medal from the mayor had been a joke—but inevitably this would somehow get out once the kid knew who he was, wouldn’t it?

“Are you alright sir?” the kid asked suddenly, pulling Tony from his thoughts.

“What? I’m fine.”

“Sorry, er, you just seemed a little upset.”

“You’re telling me.”

“What?”

“Sorry kid, that’s not what I meant.”

“Okay, right.”

Tony sighed.

“Um sir?”

“Yeah kid?”

“Are you going to ask me about what happened?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. I just, most people would ask, wouldn’t they? And you haven’t.”

Tony considered this. The kid was right, most people probably would have asked. And while a small part of Tony was a little curious, a bigger part of Tony didn’t really care why or how they got here, just as long as he could get past it all as soon as possible and forget about this atrocity of a night.

And that’s when the idea hit him.

“How about we make a deal?”

“What?”

“I promise to ask you absolutely no questions and make absolutely no guesses about you or what happened or any of it. I won’t even ask you your name. And then assuming you don’t somehow manage to have a major medical emergency before tomorrow morning and die on me, the second you walk out of my building tomorrow morning, I’ll never even think about you again. _But_ —” Tony paused to emphasize for dramatic effect, “You have to promise to do the same for me.”

The kid didn’t immediately say anything, and Tony looked over at him in concern to find the kid staring out into the street with his brow furrowed and his head cocked in thought. It was then Tony noticed how fierce the kid’s eyes looked. If this were another context, another night, if the kid were wearing a suit instead of a hoodie and actually looked his age and if Tony was still a little drunker, the way those eyes looked might have led him to other thoughts—kinds of thoughts Tony Stark should under no circumstances have about a kid he found hurt in a pile of garbage.

But again, this was a hurt, _irritating_ , _stubborn_ _kid_ , he found in a fucking _pile of garbage._ So, Tony looked away.

“So, do we have a deal kid?”

There was another moment of silence before the kid finally spoke.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

Tony let his head fall back in relief or exasperation, he couldn’t tell which, but it smacked a bit too hard into the concrete wall behind him. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth at the pain of it but after a moment he couldn’t help but laugh, the noise coming out of him manically.

God could things get any worse?

“Sir?” the kids voice was concerned. “Are you alright?”

“It’s all alright, kid,” Tony sighed. “Never you mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I'm going to be late to work but eh whatever.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe he was tipping back into a little too dark a shade of moral grey. But come on, finding a twenty-one-year-old annoying wasn’t _evil_. It just meant he was a human being who was older than twenty-one.

“So, uh, where do you live? Oh wait, does that count as asking you a question? Wait, should I close my eyes?”

Tony looked over at the kid, who was sat beside him in the back seat of a car that was currently, blessedly, en route to Stark Tower.

“You know what kid, that’s not a bad idea,” Tony said with a bit of a smirk.

“Really? I mean,” the kid stammered in confusion. “Okay sir.”

And Tony watched as the kid closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest.

“Just let me know when we get there, I guess,” he murmured.

For a second Tony opened his mouth and considered telling the kid that he’d been kidding, but then he stopped himself. If he could get the kid inside without seeing the big “STARK” written across his building, that was only a positive, right? The kid would obviously put together that Tony was very wealthy based on the interior of the building and his apartment, but at least the kid wouldn’t know specifically who he was.

And even if the plan failed, maybe at least if he got him to close his eyes, the kid would fall asleep and get some rest that Tony imagined he probably could use. And caring about the kid’s health just as much as he cared about not being inconvenienced by losing anonymity kept him right at morally and ethically neutral, right?

 _Or_ at the very, very least the kid wouldn’t be inspired to feel the need to try and start a conversation to fill the heavy silence that had fallen between them the second the kid officially agreed to get in the car and go home with him.

Okay, so _maybe_ he was tipping back into a little too dark a shade of moral grey. But come on, finding a twenty-one-year-old annoying wasn’t _evil_. It just meant he was a human being who was older than twenty-one.

“Sir, we’re about ten minutes out, is there a preferred point of drop off?” the driver asked from the front seat.

“Yeah, could you actually go down into the garage, I want to get the kid as close to the elevators as possible. It’s on Park Ave on the north side.”

“Yes sir.”

“You hear that kid, ten minutes out. Don’t fall asleep on me. This isn’t a rom com, I’m not gonna carry you bridal style upstairs.”

Tony looked over at the kid to notice that he didn’t open his eyes, but he did let out a quiet hum of affirmation.

“Are you sure sir, I am real hurt, you know,” the kid said, his voice carrying a tone that was far too teasing for what he had possibly expected out of the kid.

“Has your stubborn pride dissolved into delirium, kid?”

“Mm, probably sir.”

“Jeez kid, we’re gonna need to get you fixed up fast before it gets any worse.”

“Hm? Should I be insulted?”

“Probably, I don’t think I’ve cared for any version of you you’ve been tonight, but I’m certainly not liking the new model any better than any of the previous.”

“Gosh, thanks sir,” the kid muttered and then fell silent. After a half a minute though, he spoke again.  “Maybe I should be offended, but I guess I have imposed so much on your night that I can’t expect you to be thrilled,” he said softly, opening his eyes and turning to look at Tony earnestly for just a few soul piercing seconds.

 _What the fuck?_ God this kid went from obnoxious to self-deprecating and back again in no time flat.

Although Tony supposed the self-deprecation was a little obnoxious as well.

Tony sighed.

“Jesus kid, I told you it’s alright.”

“Is that what you meant?”

“Sure.”

“Well thank you sir, really, I don’t think I’ve said that yet, and I definitely should have. My aunt would kill me if she thought I was being impolite,” the kid offered a a half smile that could probably break a teenage girls heart before quickly turning away and snapping his eyes shut once again.

 _You wanna be polite, don’t find yourself injured in garbage heaps to be found by drunken billionaires with just barely enough of a conscious to feel obligated not to just step over your body and keep walking_ , Tony found himself thinking, but thankfully didn’t say.

Because, well, maybe he was being a little harsh on the kid. He was just a kid. He may have been a few solid years into adulthood, but Tony was a naïve little shit at twenty-one. Hell, Tony was a naïve little shit at twenty-five and thirty-two. Honestly, he’d probably only stopped being a naïve little shit in the past couple of years.

And this kid was in all honesty not even a naïve little shit.

In another context, Tony probably would have admired the kid’s ability to hold his own in the face of the asshole that was drunk and tired Tony. Tony all but literally kicked the kid while he was down, and yet the kid had still decided to, of all fucking things, thank him. In another context, he might have recognized the kid as having wit and class.

But they hadn’t met another night, in another context. They’d met tonight. And Tony just couldn’t even find himself feeling all that regretful of that, besides the massive regret he had over meeting the kid at all. 

Tony rolled down his window to wave to the security guard as the car rolled down into the garage under his building, winding down the narrow concrete passage way before pulling up in front of the bank of elevators.

“Alright kid, we’re here.”

“Can I open my eyes? Because if you have to guide me I think we’re back in that rom-com territory you mentioned earlier, sir.”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“You can open ‘em, kid,” Tony said as he reached across the kid to push open his door before doing the same to the door on his side and then stepping out.

It wasn’t like there was much for the kid to see. They were in a parking garage. Not even Tony’s private parking garage where he kept a dozen luxury cars a few more levels down. No this was just the standard one for the building. And the elevators were pretty plain too.

Tony made his way around the car to help the kid out and give him a shoulder to lean on as they hobbled over to the elevator.

“Woah, what’s with the touch screen?” the kid gasped as he noticed the elevators call system.

Was Queens stuck in an alternate timeline? Trapped back two decades ago? Was that why Tony had been avoiding it? Because if the kid was still gasping at touch screens, then Tony was officially entirely convinced that his hesitation towards tolerating the kid was entirely well founded.

Oh god, the kid would be insufferable inside Tony’s apartment.

“You use it to call the elevator and tell it what floor you want to go to, then it lets you know what elevator is going to come for you. But because I live here you also need to do a little magic trick to get you to the right floor,” Tony explained, incredibly charitably as he pressed the button for his main living floor and smiled at Jarvis in the nearby security camera.

A second later the touch screen reported the elevator number and Tony made to drag the kid away from the screen and over to the appropriate elevator.

“But why is it outside the elevator?” the kid asked. “Can’t you just press the buttons inside?”

“There aren’t buttons inside.”

“But what if you forget and get in without telling it what floor you want!” the kid protested surprisingly passionately.

“It won’t come unless you tell it what floor you want to go to.”

“But what if you’re waiting with other people who called it but you’re not going to the same floor and you forgot to press your floor and just get in with them? Or what if you change your mind and decide you want to go to another floor mid ride?”

“Then you have to get off and try again.”

“But—” the kid started again as their elevator arrived, but Tony cut him off.

“Kid, you are not making your case for not being twelve very well at the moment,” he said, as he tried his hardest to remember the kid was injured and not literally shove him into the elevator.

The kids mouth snapped shut and in an instant his body language seemed to crumple into something akin to timid, or more aptly the kicked puppy look as Tony had taken to calling it.

“I just think the concept is a bit flawed is all. I get that it helps provide organization and structure to calling the elevators in what is apparently such a large building, but there has to be a way to override it from the inside.”

“There’s a control panel you can open up. Or there’s a call button that put you through to an A—an operator,” Tony quickly amended. If the kid was this upset about calling an elevator through a touch screen, he couldn’t imagine the kid’s reaction to discovering the entire building and everything in it was more or less run by various A.I.

“But that’s just for emergencies. Sometimes people just screw up, you know. People deserve a second chance.”

“That’s very poetic on behalf of all the people who have been minorly inconvenienced and embarassed by not realizing how elevators in my building work. Are you sure the metaphor isn’t greater than that?”

“I thought we had a no questions policy?” the kid said quickly.

“Ah, that we did. Also,” Tony announced as the elevator hit the right floor and the doors slid open, “We’re finally here. Home sweet home,” he announced.

The kid was too quiet as Tony helped him out of the elevator. Dangerously quiet. Tony eyed the kid as he led him into the apartment, taking note of the wide-eyed expression on the kids face as he looked around Tony’s penthouse.

“Have something to say?” Tony asked.

The kids mouth opened, but then it shut.

“Nope,” the kid said after another moment. “Nothing at all.”

“Thank fucking Jesus,” Tony sighed. “I have a friend coming over who’s going to check you out, then maybe we can see about a shower or something to get the trash smell off of you, and then straight to bed, hopefully before the sun comes up,” Tony ran through as he helped the kid sit down on the couch and prayed that Bruce wasn’t taking his sweet time to get here. “In the meantime, you said you’re twenty-one, right? Could I get you a drink? Because fuck do I need one.”

The kid just stared at him in response.

“Suit yourself,” Tony shrugged and left the kid to take his surroundings in while he made his way over to the bar to find something that could take the edge back off this disaster of a night.

His eyes landed on a bottle of whiskey that was, well, easily worth more than the kids non-existent net worth and value of all his organs on the black market combined.

Well, if there was ever a time to hope pouring excess wealth down his throat would grant him a miracle, now was probably the time.

Of course, it didn’t matter that such a strategy had never worked before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: In some very large and very tall buildings in cities like New York, they do in fact put the buttons outside the elevator. And then sometimes people (not ME or anything, just people) do accidentally get into the first elevator that opens and end up having to get out and try again after embarrassing themselves in front of a couple fancy banker dudes.
> 
> You know what's almost never embarrassing though? Leaving comments. Drop then below. Or don't, I guess.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A part of Tony just considered walking out of the room. Walking straight out of the room, going to bed, and having Jarvis lock the door and never let anyone inside his apartment ever again, and leaving the kid for Banner to deal with.

“So, you picked up a kid and now you want me to give him a checkup? Can’t you just use a condom, Tony? It’s nearly two in the morning! And I hope ‘kid’ is just an endearment. You’ve dated young before, but there is a _very_ clear and well-defined line.”

“Sh with the name!” Tony admonished as he looked across the apartment from the elevator where he stood with Bruce to the couch where the kid had returned to the that slightly hunched, defensive position that he’d taken earlier in the trash pile as well. God, he should have told the kid it was okay to lie down. Did the kid need permission to do everything?

“What are you, in the middle of some kind of role play?” Bruce asked.

“I didn’t pick up the kid to sleep with, fuck, Bruce. I found him, and he’s hurt pretty bad but he refused to go to the hospital and wouldn’t let me take him home, so I brought him here. We have a deal though that includes anonymity for both of us that goes right out the window if you just come in here and tell the kid my life story!”

“Oh, but can he know _my_ name?”

“Bruce, please, I’m worried he might have some broken ribs or something.”

“And what am I supposed to do about that? Don’t tell me you added an x-ray machine to your lab just for kicks.”

“There are about a dozen different medical practices of various varieties in this building and I’m in all technicality the landlord and have enough money to ask for forgiveness, not permission. If you need some specialized equipment, I’m sure we can track something down.”

“A podiatrist office isn’t a hospital T—” thankfully Bruce cut himself off. “Who knows what equipment they have.”

“Bruce, there is a twenty-one-year-old kid that looks like he’s been through hell and back on my couch and you're arguing with me about whether or not I have the resources to make whatever resources you could possibly need appear with little more than the sending of a single text?”

Bruce let out a sigh, but his face settled in resignation as he made his way over to the couch where Peter was sitting, body hunched, and head ducked back into the kicked puppy look.

“Hey there pal, so what happened?” Bruce asked as he knelt down in front of the kid.

The kid looked up at Tony with wide eyes.

“Can’t ask that, it’s part of the agreement,” Tony clarified.

Bruce opened his mouth and then shut it again.

“Alright then,” he sighed. “Let’s try this again. Can I introduce myself to you at least?”

The kid glanced back over at Tony and when his face remained passive, the kid slowly nodded.

“I’m Bruce. Is there something I can call you?”

Again, Tony watched as the kid looked over at him.

“Look pal, if you don’t want to tell me your name that’s fine. But whatever agreement exists between you and Mr. Moneybags over there is supposed to benefit you. Tell me whatever you want.”

The kid quirked a sympathetic smile but said nothing.

“Alright, that’s fine pal, let’s get down to business then, I guess. Do you think we can get your shirt off? It smells like the inside of a dumpster, so I’m sure you’re itching to get out of it anyway.”

The kid’s arms tightened around himself and he looked down into his lap.

“I’m not sure I can lift my arms over my head,” he mumbled, finally speaking to Bruce at the very least.

Bruce pursed his lips.

“Alright, do you have some scissors, T? We can cut it off him.”

“I’ll go see if I can find some,” Tony said, becoming quickly resigned to the new nickname. At least it really wasn’t identifying. And he doubted the kid would call him anything other than “sir” without explicit permission.

Tony went over to the kitchen to see if he could find a pair of shears in one of the drawers and listened as Bruce continued to chat with the kid across the room.

“You’ll have to excuse me, while I am a medical doctor, I’m really more of a physicist. I haven’t actually treated anyone for anything since I did some clinic work abroad in my late twenties.”

“You’re a physicist?” the kid asked, and Tony could hear the kid perk up.

“Yeah, do you like physics?”

“I uh,” the kid paused, and Tony could imagine him looking nervously over into the kitchen to see if Tony would react. Tony didn’t dare look at the kid to confirm this was happening, though, and so the kid must have took it as a sign to make his own decision. “Yeah, I’m studying physics actually.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Queens College. I’m actually doing their pre-engineering program.”

Tony froze, and he swore he could feel the mischievous energy dripping off of Bruce from all the way across the room.

“Engineering, eh? Maybe you and T were destined to meet.”

 _Fucking Banner_.

“I uh, no, I can’t imagine any of this is destiny,” the kid said, and Tony couldn't help but smirk.

 _Same, kid, same_ , he found himself thinking.

“So what’s a pre-engineering program entail, eh? When I went to school the only pre- thing there was was pre-med, and now these kids all got their fancy pre-law tracks and pre-engineering tracks, next thing you know they'll have pre-economics and pre-anthropology, and no one will actually go to school until grad school.”

“It’s actually a five-year program where you can basically earn two bachelors," the kid replied. "So this is my third year at Queens, and I’ll technically have earned a B.A. in physics, and then I can transfer into an engineering program as a junior and graduate with that degree as well. Queens has a partnership with Columbia actually, a lot of people do the program because of that.”

“Oh, so you’ll be going to Columbia next year then?”

“Oh, um, no, probably not. I can’t—I probably can’t afford it. I’ve applied and maybe a scholarship or a financial aid package without too many loans will come through but probably not. I don’t have to go to Columbia though, most engineering programs at most universities will accept the transfer. I’d like to stay in the city though, so I can live at home. But I don’t know. I think I might be able to afford Cooper Union, if I get in, of course.”

 _Huh_ , and suddenly the kid was a chatterbox. The wonders never ceased. For a kid who needs permission to do everything, he certainly took a mile when given an inch.

“I’m sure if Columbia would take you then you shouldn’t have a problem getting in anywhere else you want to go. Maybe T can put you in touch with someone, I’m sure he knows someone there, some way or another.”

Thankfully at that moment Tony located the kitchen shears, because boy did he need to put an end to this conversation.

Tony didn’t want to help the kid _network_. He wanted to be able to send the kid home and never see him again.

“Hey, guess what I found!” he called, holding up the scissors as he made his way back to the couch.

“Great, perfect timing, because I was just telling our new pal here—” Bruce began, with that innocence of his.

“I know what you were telling the kid, Bruce, everyone on HGTV isn’t, in fact, lying when they go on and on about how important open concepts are for being able to be in the kitchen but still feel like you’re a part of the action in the living room.”

“Huh, really? I thought the open concept-concept was cancelled out when the living space is more than 1,000 square feet on its own.”

“Maybe with carpeting, but the thing about this modern aesthetic that I’m going for is that noise carries. It can be quite echo-y, you know.”

“Huh, so then you’d know—” Bruce started, but Tony cut him off before Bruce had a chance to somehow change the topic back.

“The scissors, Bruce,” Tony smiled politely as he passed the scissors to the other man.

Bruce sighed and accepted the scissors before turning back to the kid.

“It’s okay pal, if you want I can give you the names of some people. I know some people who have money like Tony but aren’t such assholes about it and actually give to charity and maybe they’ll know of some private scholarships you could apply for. See if maybe we can make Columbia happen.”

The kid opened his mouth, but it was Tony who was suddenly speaking.

“Okay, first of all, you do not know anyone else with money like me,” Tony found himself defending. “And second of all, I have an entire foundation which gives millions every year to a variety of causes, including several scholarships and educational grants.”

And then Tony immediately snapped his mouth shut in horror as he realized he’d been successfully baited by Bruce.

Fucking do-gooder Banner.

A part of Tony just considered walking out of the room. Walking straight out of the room, going to bed, and having Jarvis lock the door and never let anyone inside his apartment ever again, _and_ leaving the kid for Banner to deal with.

But for some reason he stayed frozen.

“Then maybe our pal here could apply for one of your scholarships! I’m sure you could do something to get his application to the top of the pile. He seems like a hard worker, I bet he’d be a great candidate!” Bruce said jovially as he cut off the kid’s shirt.

Tony opened his mouth but… _thankfully?_ the kid beat him to it.

“No, it’s really fine. Bruce, sir. I’m sure I’ll sort something out. I’ve already applied for a ton of scholarships, anyway, and most of the deadlines for the year have past. I’m sure the deadline for your scholarships has past, right sir?”

And then Tony realized the kid was looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Tony found himself saying gracelessly. “I mean, it is a little late in the season, isn’t it? But I’m sure if the kid has the talent, something will come through.”

“You know that’s rarely how it works, T.”

“I know no such thing.”

“Do you think your genius would have been recognized the same way and with the same results if you hadn’t been born into the family you were born into?”

“I’d certainly hope so,” Tony said plainly as he and Bruce officially entered a staring contest.

“Maybe someday, if you worked hard enough and buried yourself in student loans, sure.”

“Poor kids get scholarships all the time. I see it in the news. I shake their hands at my own scholarship luncheons.”

“Isn’t it funny though how poor kids getting scholarships is so rare it’s newsworthy?”

“Um, hey,” the kid interjected, and Tony tore his glare from Bruce to look back at the kid, who was now sitting there shirtless, suddenly looking a little less small. And suddenly Tony felt some kind of way that Tony didn’t care to try and identify or label but could mostly be summarized as holy-fuck-that’s-a-giant-nasty-bruise with a side of god-why-can’t-I-be-twenty-one-and-have-those-abs-again?

“I’m not poor,” the kid continued. “I mean, my aunt and I, we work hard, and we make sure not to spend more than our means. But we’re not like, destitute. Just so you know. And I’m fine. Like really, I swear, the only thing about me that isn’t fine right now is the obvious injuries, and so if those could just be treated so I can go home, I’d really appreciate it,” the kid smiled, but in a way that didn’t reach his eyes, which Tony had to admit was a strange look on his face. “No offense, Mr. Bruce. It’s real great what you’re trying to do. But I mean. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I swear.”

Tony watched as Bruce’s we-have-to-at-least-try-and-save-the-world face fell into a look of resignation and not without immediate horror, but still none the less, he found his lips quirking to shoot Bruce a victorious grin as he found himself thinking that maybe just maybe the kid wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost 11 o'clock at night and I haven't eaten dinner because my choices today included sitting a Starbucks after work with a friend for three hours and then coming home to finish writing this. I hope you enjoyed it (let me know if the comments!), but please excuse me while I go eat a sleeve of crackers and then pass out because woah I'm so great at #adulthoood


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony suddenly regretted calling the kid “kid” all night.

“So, are you having any trouble breathing?” Bruce asked the kid. He’d pulled a stethoscope out of the bag he’d brought with him and held it against the kid’s chest.

“Only if I breathe in really deep.”

“Can you try breathing in as deep as you can for me?”

The kid took a slow, shuddered breath that hardly seemed that deep at all and Tony pinched the bridge of his nose as he looked on.

“It you could barely breathe, kid, you could have told me sooner,” he sighed.

“I can breathe!” the kid defended. “My chest is just a little sore.”

“Another deep one for me, pal,” Bruce directed, moving the stethoscope to his back. The kid did as he was instructed, the breath short and shuddered once again, and it pained Tony just to watch. How had he not noticed? “Okay,” Bruce said, putting the stethoscope down and placing his fingers against the kid’s ribs, gently pressing up his chest along the big wine-colored bruises that covered the kids chest. “Is the pain particularly sharp anywhere?”

“Not really, it’s just like a kind of intense soreness, mostly here,” the kid gestured to his left side where the bruising was most intense.

“Could you at least give me a general idea of when the injury occurred?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe around 9:00?”

“And no one found you until I did?” Tony asked. Tony hadn’t left the game until probably 9:30 and he probably hadn’t found the kid until closer to 11:00.

“I mean, I don’t know. Maybe some people came by. But it hurt too much to get up and eventually I guess I just fell asleep.”

“You _fell asleep_?” Tony asked closing his eyes for a long moment and dragging his hand down his face.

“Wait, did you hit your head at all?” Bruce asked.

The kid just shrugged.

“Do you have a headache, any dizziness?”

“Maybe a bit of a headache.”

“What’s pain on a scale of 1-10?”

“Oh, I don’t know, what’s like a five?”

“The pain would be pretty distressing, and you’re aware of it all the time. You’re modifying your behavior to try and manage it.”

“Oh, then like a five, maybe a little less.”

Tony sat down on the couch, suddenly just feeling so incredibly tired. This kid could get himself killed someday out of stubbornness, Tony realized with a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he decided not to analyze too deeply. Meanwhile, Bruce sighed and reached into his bag and pulled out a small flash light and began to shine the light into the kid’s eyes, pulling up the kid’s eyelids with his thumb as he did so.

“Well,” Bruce said a few minutes later, sounding almost as tired as Tony felt, “I want you to see a doctor at an actual hospital tomorrow, get an x-ray, maybe a CT scan. But you’ve been awake and talking to us, so if you have a concussion it’s probably not too severe, and I can’t tell if your ribs are just bruised or if there may be a fracture, but if there is a fracture it’s probably just a hairline and you’re not at risk for puncturing anything.” Tony found himself letting out a relieved sigh at the news. “Have you taken anything for the pain yet?” Bruce asked.

“I didn’t want to give him anything until you checked him out,” Tony answered for the kid.

“Well then I’d recommend two acetaminophen, a glass of water, and some rest. Then off to the hospital first thing in the morning.”

The kid smiled in that slightly forced way again.

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate you coming out here in the middle of the night to check on me.”

Tony knew at that response that the kid had no intention of going to the hospital still, but he figured he could deal with that in the morning. He was so tired. This kid. This fucking kid. Tony looked at him sitting there on the couch, all battered looking with his eyes starting to droop sleepily and it made Tony feel some kind of way in his chest that he definitely didn’t want to feel about _this fucking kid_. 

It was like he kind of wanted to yell, and maybe smash something, or maybe even cry. But instead his face felt heavy and expressionless as he sat on the couch in front of Bruce and the kid.

“Well, great. Phase one is complete,” he announced, trying his best to sound at least a little bit not entirely dead inside. Why he suddenly felt a need to put on a brave face for the kid when he’d been making no attempt to hide his emotions from him all night, Tony didn’t know, but figured the instinct was for the best. “Now I believe next on the list was to get you cleaned up. What would be easier, a bath or a shower?”

“Oh, um, I don’t, whatever—”

“A shower with a chair in it would probably be safest,” Bruce interjected as the kid floundered.

“Super,” Tony said, feeling a little delirious as he made to stand up but somehow managing a smile. “One of my guest rooms has an en-suite with a walk-in shower with a bench, if that sounds alright. If you could bring him up, Bruce, in a few minutes. It’s the third door on the right, one floor up. Probably best to take the elevator wit him. I’m just going to head up and get things set up.”

“Tony—” Bruce said, but Tony was already making his way to the stairs as fast as he could without it looking like he was running away.

He got to the guest room and found himself shutting the door behind him and leaning up heavily against it while he took a few slow breaths, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with him.

Tony was a master at not feeling things and suddenly he was feeling a lot of things.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sinking to the ground. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He scrubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands and ran his fingers raggedly through his hair before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out one more slow breath.

“Jarvis?” Tony asked. He’d sent a text to the A.I. on the way home letting him know to go silent until further notice since he didn’t want to have to explain him to the kid.

“Yes sir?”

“Are Bruce and the kid still downstairs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are they doing?”

“Talking. Would you like audio, sir?”

Tony shook his head without even thinking about it.

“No, definitely no.”

“Alright sir, is there anything else I can help you with?”

Tony closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the door.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

“Do you know any possible reasons why I might be feeling like this?” Tony asked suddenly.

“Like what, sir?”

“Like I’ve been hit with an anvil.”

“Often times after situations of high stress, people will experience a crash of adrenaline that can leave them feeling physically and emotionally depleted.”

“Right, okay. That makes sense.”

“The situation might be particularly stressful because of the young man’s age and appearance," the A.I. continued. "While post-pubescent, the young man still has many of the physical markers of adolescence. Many adults can instinctively feel protective of those they perceive to be children or otherwise innocent, which raises the emotional stakes in a situation where such a person is experiencing pain or trauma.”

Tony suddenly regretted calling the kid “kid” all night.

“It’s not like I could be his father or something. He’s twenty-one,” Tony argued, although to what end he wasn't quite sure.

“I believe, sir, that you began having intercourse more than twenty-one years ago,” Jarvis pointed out and Tony made a mental note to delete that fact from the A.I.'s memory later. Where he'd even gotten that information from, Tony couldn't imagine.

“My childhood was unusual and moderately fucked up. Graduating college wasn't the only thing I did younger than average.”

“That is true. As an alternative, it is possible that you’ve developed an emotional bond to the man not based on paternal instincts or perceived obligations in the defense of innocence that may still cause feelings of protectiveness that may have heightened your emotions tonight.”

Tony wasn’t sure which was worse, that he was all fucked up over the kid because some primitive part of his brain thought the kid could be his child or if he just actually happened to _like_ the kid.

“Well, whatever. It doesn’t matter.” Tony decided. “The kid is going to be staying tonight. Can you keep an eye on him for me? Let me know if he’s in any kind of distress or something?”

“What kind of distress, sir?”

“Whatever kind.”

“Okay sir, anything else?”

“Are Bruce and the kid still talking?”

“No, Bruce is helping the young man into the elevator.”

Well, time to get back to it, then.

Tony exhaled and pushed himself away from the door, getting up and then turning around to open it again before making his way over to the en-suite to set up the bathroom. He quickly set up a bottle of shampoo and some body wash on the bench in the shower before angling the shower head to spray over the beach and turning on the water. Then he went to the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of extra strength Tylenol, took out two capsules, and filled a glass with water.

“T?” he heard Bruce call out.

“In here,” he responded and turned towards the door to see the kid and Bruce taking slow steps towards the bathroom, the kid leaning on Bruce heavily.

“Hey kid, I’ve got the shower all set up for you, and some painkillers and some water right here on the sink. I’ll go find some clean clothes for you and put them out on the bed.”

“You just plan on dumping him in a guest room and leaving him here? The kid can barely walk!” Bruce admonished. “We’ll help you get undressed and into the shower, pal. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, it’s alright!” the kid said quickly, unwinding his arm from around Bruce and taking small, staggering steps over to the sink, grasping the counter tightly and taking a few careful, shallow breaths. “You should go home, Bruce. I’ll be fine.”

“Pal, it’s alright. We’ll give you some space once you’re safely inside the shower. Take your pills and then I’ll help you into the shower.”

The kid looked between Bruce and Tony and then down at the pills before picking them up and swallowing them, chasing them with the glass of water.

“Alright, can you get your jeans off, or do you need help.”

“I can just leave them on for now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have anything we haven’t seem before, I promise," Bruce joked, but the kid still looked hesitant. "Sometimes when you’re sick and hurt you have to let people take care of you and it can feel a little embarrassing and frustrating, but I swear to you pal, all we want to do is help, and all of us need help sometimes. We won’t even look, we promise. Right Tony?”

Oh, Tony definitely wasn’t going to look. The kid with his bruises and his pained smile and puppy dog eyes was already hard enough for him to look at. To see the kid naked and vulnerable on top of all that—well Tony didn’t know what would happen, exactly, but he couldn’t imagine it would lead to him feeling any kind of way that was productive or that he remotely wanted to feel.

“How about I leave and go work on tracking down those clothes, okay, kid?”

The kid ducked his head in embarrassment and Tony took it as a sign to leave the kid alone with Bruce to get into the shower. Tony quickly made his way down the hall to his own room, heading to his closet to see if he could find something to spare for the kid, picking out an old plain t-shirt and some sweat pants, and thankfully finding a brand-new pack of boxers in one of his drawers to donate to the kid as well.

“Tony?” he heard Bruce call out a few minutes later. “Are you in here?”

“In the closet,” he responded.

“I told the kid you’d go back and help him get out in ten minutes, can you do that, or should I stick around?”

“Oh,” was all Tony said. “Whatever.”

“Hey man, are you alright? You seem a little out of it tonight, more out of it than you usually are anyway.”

“I’m fine,” Tony said quickly. “Just exhausted. Didn’t realize I’d be babysitting some kind of wounded puppy tonight. Doesn’t help that the kid’s the most annoying kid I’ve met in a while,” he cracked a smile he hoped didn’t look to forced.

“He seems like a good kid, Tony. And also, very much not a kid. Young, definitely. But he seems pretty grown and able to take care of himself. Vulnerability and asking for help is hard for a lot of people, you and me included man, particularly as an adult when you feel like you shouldn’t need to rely on other people for really basic tasks. I wouldn’t hold a bit of stubbornness and hesitancy against him.”

That was probably right, and fair. If the kid had been a kid he probably would have cried and yelled, probably would have done whatever he could have without thinking to ask permission to get attention and have someone take care of him. But the kid wasn’t a kid, he was a young man, with all the stubbornness, and loneliness, and pride, and fear that came with it.

“So, you’ll look out for him the rest of the night then? Help him out of the shower and into bed? Feed him in the morning and make sure he gets to a hospital?” Bruce asked. “If you’re going to flake out, just say so, I’ll stay, no questions asked.”

Tony sighed.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it,” he said. “Thank you so much for coming out tonight for me, I owe you one.”

Bruce smiled.

“It’s no problem. He’s really a pretty alright though, as a person I mean. You should try and actually talk to him. He’s pretty smart too. I know for whatever reason you’ve decided to not know his name but give him five years and you definitely might run into him at a conference or in a business meeting or something.”

“I’ve just been trying to get us both through the night, Bruce.”

Bruce smiled sympathetically and sighed.

“Alright then. I’ll see myself out. You should probably head back down the hall to check on him pretty soon.”

“I will, Bruce, I promise I’m not going to just abandon him sitting in the shower until the hot water runs cold.”

“Does hot water run out in a place like this?” Bruce asked skeptically.

Tony smiled a bit more genuinely for the first time in a while and shrugged.

“I don’t know, probably not. It was just an expression.”

Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Have a good night, Tony, get some sleep.”

“Thank Bruce, really, thank you,” Tony said one more time as Bruce made his way out the door.

With a sigh, Tony looked back to the pile of clothes he’d gathered and picked them up and made his way back down the hall.

“Sir,” Jarvis called out to him. “I believe the young man has had an incident in the bathroom and requires immediate assistance.”

Tony in spite of everything found himself running to the guestroom and into the bathroom to find the kid lying on the bathroom floor. It looked like he had tried to get out of the shower himself. Although he’d thankfully managed to dry off a bit and wrap a towel around his waist, he’d fallen in the middle of the bathroom floor.

The kid looked up at him with wide eyes and Tony cursed.

“Fuck, kid, what were you thinking?”

“Sorry, sir, I thought—I thought I could do it.”

“Fuck kid, you don’t have to be so stubborn all the time man!”

“I’m, I’m sorry, I just—shit.”

The kid swore and somehow it was like a weight was lifted from Tony’s shoulders.

“Yeah, kid, shit,” Tony sighed and shook his head, turning to place the stack of clean clothes on the counter before leaning down to help the kid up.

“Let’s just get you dressed and into bed, before you manage to damage yourself any more, alright? There has been enough excitement tonight.”

The kid sighed as Tony helped him back to his feet.

“Yeah, alright.”

Together they walked out of the bathroom and over to the bed and Tony sat him down before going back to the bathroom to retrieve the clothes.

“I brought you some stuff. The underwear is brand knew, hopefully no one’s sweaty ass and balls have touched them before,” he said, holding out the pile. “Do you need help?”

“Can you, um, get them to my knees? Then you can turn around and I’ll pull them up.”

Tony rolled his eyes. He certainly wasn’t itching to see this kid’s junk, but the kid’s modesty suddenly seemed like such an obviously intrinsic thing to his identity that Tony felt like he shouldn’t have considered for a moment the kid might behave otherwise.

“Sure, kid, whatever you need.”

Tony leant down and helped the kid step into the boxers and the sweatpants before turning around to let him take off the towel and pull them up over his hips.

“I’m finished.”

Tony opened his eyes and turned back around.

“Do you think you can manage the shirt?”

“I think so, can you help me with it though?”

“Sure,” Tony said before doing just that.

“Okay, looks like you’re all set,” Tony said, wiping his hands in what he hoped was more a we’re-finished-here gesture than a nervous one. “If you need anything, just yell. I’m right down the hall. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning and we can go to the hospital.”

“We?”

“Yeah, doctors’ orders, I believe, unfortunately. You didn’t think I trusted you to actually go one your own, Mr. I-Fell-Asleep-In-a-Trash-Pile-Rather-Than-Even-Try-To-Get-Help?”

 “That really won’t be necessary, sir.”

“I had the morning off anyway. I’ll take you to my doctor, he’ll be discrete, and then after you get an all clear I’ll get you in a car back to Queens, okay?”

“I—” the kid hesitated, “Thank you sir. I really appreciate all of this.”

“It’s alright,” Tony said still not sure he meant it, but feeling most sincere out of all the times he’d said it that night. “I told you it is all alright. Now, I’ll let you get some rest and see you in the morning. Goodnight,” Tony said as he made his way towards the door. “Oh, and if you want the lights to turn off, just ask.”

The kid looked at him in confusion, but didn’t say anything, so Tony turned around and went down the hall to his room. He took only a few minutes to strip down to his boxers before sliding into bed. Dental hygiene didn’t feel all that important in the scope of the night.

It thankfully didn’t take long before Tony began to feel the heaviness of sleep take him, which felt like no less than a miracle on a night like tonight considering what an insomniac he could be.

“Mr. Stark, sir.” Jarvis’s voice filled the bedroom, immediately calling Tony back. “The young man appears to be in emotional distress.”

Tony sat upright immediately, his heart thudding in his chest.

“What? What’s happening?”

“I don’t believe he is in any harm that requires your attention, sir.”

Tony furrowed his brow. Then why had Jarvis woken him up?

“You said he’s in distress, Jarvis, what’s going on?”

“Yes, he is in distress, but I’ve run an assessment and I don’t believe he’s in any danger.”

“Jarvis, come on,” Tony said tiredly, “If he doesn’t need anything, then why did you tell me?”

“You told me to report any kind of distress, sir.”

“Well could you describe his distress to me, so I can decide for myself if he needs attention?”

The A.I. was quiet for a moment.

“Jarvis!” Tony snapped.

“He’s crying, sir.”

Tony shut his eyes and exhaled. Well, fuck. A second later he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, realizing in an instant that it wouldn’t worth the effort of trying to sleep tonight.

“I’ll be in the lab if he needs me Jarvis. Please only let me know if he needs me.”

“Yes sir. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

Tony only sighed and made his way down the hall and down to the lab, not even pausing to spare a glance at the guest room as he passed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah! Sorry this chapter is a bit more.. devastating than the previous chapters. Let me know what you think. The humor will return though, I promise! And now I'm going to go get a bagel, because I am emotionally and a little bit literally hungover.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why the hell not, kid?”
> 
> “Because—because I just don’t,” the kid stammered. “And anyway, you don’t even like me.”

“Mr. Stark, the young man is awake,” Jarvis announced, pulling Tony from his work which he’d gotten lost in god knows how long ago now.

“What time is it?”

“5:30 a.m.”

“Why is he up so early? When I was his age the only reason I was up before noon was if I hadn’t gone to sleep the night before.”

“I don’t know sir. He did not sleep well, only drifting in and out of sleep for a couple hours after finally falling asleep around 3:30 a.m. and never hitting a REM cycle.”

“What is he doing?”

“He’s sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room.”

“He’s sitting up? And he did so on his own? Show me a visual?” Tony requested, spinning around in his chair back towards one of his monitors. Onto the screen an image of the guest bedroom from the security camera appeared, and there the kid was, sitting on the edge of the bed, wringing his hands nervously.

“His mobility seems greatly improved. He used the bathroom without exceptional difficulty or need for assistance earlier. He also took more acetaminophen.”

“That’s good,” Tony mused, more to himself than the A.I. “How long has he been sitting like that?”

“About twenty minutes, sir.”

Tony sighed. The kid would probably just sit there until he told him otherwise, wouldn’t he? Tony hadn’t exactly given any indicator at all that he’d be cool with the kid going exploring, so he supposed he couldn’t really blame him. But the room had a TV in it for goodness sakes, the kid could at least find a morning chat show or infomercial or Golden Girls rerun instead of just sitting there looking like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Can you put me over the intercom?” Tony asked.

“Yes sir, connecting audio now.”

“Hey kid, aren’t you up early?” Tony said, and watched with a little amusement as the kid startled. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Um, no sir I—were you watching me?”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“Only for the last minute or so. My security system notified me when you woke up.”

“But you’re looking at me right now?” the kid asked, looking around the room with wide eyes.

“Relax kid, I’ve only used my security system for voyeuristic purposes maybe three or four times.”

“I think that’s a rather modest estimation, sir,” Jarvis cut in, although thankfully cutting the guest room audio feed so only Tony could hear the A.I.’s sass. It’s not like Tony had ever spied on any of his guests on purpose, or at least not without their permission.

“Um, I was wondering, sir, if I could go home? I’m really feeling much better already.”

“Nah-uh kid. I’ve already made you an appointment with my physician for ten o’clock.”

“So you’re going to hold me hostage for like four and a half hours?”

“I haven’t kidnapped you. If you really, really want to leave you can leave. But I’m going to highly discourage it.”

“Oh,” was all the kid said.

“So are you going to then?”

“What?”

“Leave.”

“No.”

“Good. Well you’re welcome to watch some television or something, you should probably at least try and rest.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“I’m just— I don’t want to lie in bed anymore.”

“Anymore? It’s barely been three hours.”

“I know. But I wasn’t planning on getting a lot of sleep tonight. And I did sleep a little already, before you found me, remember.”

“That does not count, kid. You need REM sleep otherwise your brain will fry.”

“I’ll sleep tomorrow, sir, I promise.”

Tony sighed. It would be rather hypocritical for him to continue to press the kid about sleep, considering Tony hadn’t slept that night at all.

“Why don’t you come down and hang out with me then. You’re an engineer, yeah?”

“I’m almost done with a pre-engineering program, I don’t think it’s the same thing.”

“But surely you like to tinker with things?”

“I—I guess, yeah.”

“Alright, well why don’t you come down and hang out in my lab with me. I can’t show you what I’m working on, it’s a bit of a secret, but I’ve got some old pet projects that have been a bit abandoned you’re welcome to play with, if you want.”

“Oh, alright sir,” the kid still looked a little hesitant, but he seemed a little curious at least.

“If you can get back to the elevator, just go two floors down, alright? Can you do that you think?”

“Sure sir, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Tony spun away from the monitor and back to the project he’d been working on. It was just a personal A.I. system, like Jarvis but ten generations ago, but still higher performing than any of the other low-price point models on the market. The idea was to bring Stark Industries into the home of the average American instead of just shipping it all off to war abroad.

Weapons manufacturing was his empire, but a lot of people, you know, didn’t actually like or support war. And while Tony of course you could call it a "defense" company, Tony tried to design weapons that were able to be as targeted in their effects as possible so as to minimize civilian casualties, along with taking great measures to ensure as few of his weapons ended up on the black market as possible, the fact that he made things that killed people, even though if _most_ of the time they were used to kill people that were killing other people, tipped him out of moral and ethical grey area and right into super villain category in a lot of people’s eyes.

So Tony had realized it was time to do a bit of rebranding, make tech that was more user friendly, bring Stark Industries onto the popular level, and sell things that people want like cell phones and computers and tablets, or in this case A.I.’s. It was a bit unusual, of course, but he was Tony Stark, for fucks sake, and if he wanted to sell missiles and televisions than there was no reason he couldn't. 

An A.I. seemed like the perfect way to launch the new personal technologies line. After all, Tony had quietly been the king of A.I. for a solid decade or so. Jarvis was the most advanced A.I. in the world, but Tony had been sitting on the technology, keeping Jarvis and all his other little robotic pets to himself. But if the average consumer was ready to automate their home, then Tony was hardly going to stop them, and if he could profit on it, well, Tony was a businessman after all. They couldn’t have Jarvis, of course, but Tony would give them something—something that was better than anything else currently on the market by a longshot.

The system wasn’t particularly interesting, it felt a little like a child’s toy to Tony, but it was due for a final presentation to his board of directors in a few weeks, so it could go into production to prepare for a late fall launch, just in time for the holiday season—but Tony was still tinkering with it, coding and recoding the user interface—unable to decide just how much he should include for the price point they were targeting.

It was the first product of what would hopefully become many, and the first-generation model in a line that he could continue to upgrade for years to come, but Tony wanted to make a good first impression. He wanted in a decade for everyone to have their Stark A.I.’s and their matching Starkphones and Starkpads and Starktops.

Just then the elevator dinged, and Tony spun around to see the doors swing open and the kid standing there.

“Hey kid, welcome to my lab,” Tony smiled. “The stuff I mentioned is in the corner over there, feel free to explore,” Tony said, gesturing to the projects graveyard table across the lab. It was filled with abandoned insomnia projects that didn’t seem to be going anywhere fast enough to spend any more time on them.

“Oh, alright, sure,” the kid said, rubbing his arm nervously.

Tony honestly didn’t know if it was a good idea to let the kid down here. He didn’t know who this kid was, at all after all. For all he knew this kid was a spy.

But more likely this kid was a twenty-one-year-old college student who didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about well, anything Tony did, and instead had just gotten a grip on Ohm’s law and its basic uses and implications. In all honesty, Tony hoped he could bore the kid back to bed with his pile of spare parts and crumpled notebook sheets of complex calculations.

But that wasn’t what happened.

“Is this a model for a quantum computer?” the kid asked, holding up a pile of Tony’s notes.

Tony furrowed his brow.

“It was a bit of work on a model of one, yeah,” Tony admitted. “Got jealous of IBM one night a few years ago when I heard about their Q Experience. Although mine was more like a quantum calculator in all honesty, and I’d be lucky if I’d devoted an entire year to it to be able to get it to just add, which is useless because a few years later and the Q Experience is running algorithms and simulations,” Tony explained. “They’re teaching you quantum mechanics over at Queens?”

“Oh, I mean, I think there was an introductory chapter in one of my textbooks, some definitions of superposition and entanglement and stuff. I did do a unit on linear algebra in a math class.”

“And you recognized me messing around with quantum Turing machine models?”

“Well, I read sometimes, you know, outside of class.”

“You _read_?”

“Is that hard to believe? Also, you messed up the transition function, no wonder you weren’t getting anywhere,” the kid said, walking over to Tony and pointing at a line on the notepad.

“What?”

“Yeah, you started using it as an abstract writing system, which is a kind of clumsy mistake, you know, forgetting how you were trying to study the function.”

“I—what?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve only read a little bit about quantum stuff, I’ve been more into bioengineering lately, although I found some software on some of the computers in the science lab at school that lets you run simulations for some basic nanotechnology that’s fun to mess around with,” the kid rambled. “But anyway, I mean I guess my point is I can’t, like, give you like any suggestions or anything, but I can tell you it’s pretty obviously wrong.”

“Huh,” was all Tony found himself able to say. “And you don’t think you can get a scholarship to Columbia?”

“What?”

“Talking like that you could probably get a full ride to M.I.T. if you wanted.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re smart kid, like really smart. Schools should be begging for the chance to have you as an alum.”

“Not really, I’m only good at math and physics and stuff. My grades overall have always been average, since high school. And I’ve never done an internship or anything, I need to work at a job that pays me and it’s rare to find internships that give anything more than a small stipend. Paid ones are super competitive, and I can’t get one without stellar grades and experience at another internship.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony asked as the kid paused his rambling.

“I mean, it’s just a system you know, and I’m trying to get through it without being buried in debt. If I wanted to come out of my undergraduate education $100,000 in the hole, maybe I could have gone to fancy private schools and done internships and all that. But I’m fine with the track I’m on, you know? At the end of the day I’m still going to get my degree and hopefully I’ll be able to get a job, and then I can do what I love and hopefully be able to do some good in the world.”

“What?” Honestly the kid might as well have been speaking some lost, ancient language, Tony had no idea what the kid was going on about. Tony Stark was a certified genius and within five minutes of being in his lab this kid had found an error in some highly advanced calculations. As far as Tony was concerned that meant the kid was probably genius too. Probably not as smart as him, at least not yet, but a ton of potential.

“Well I mean I’m good in most math and science classes and get all A’s there, but then there are all these gen ed requirements and I mean I’m okay at English, but like I still got an A-. And I like history but there was so much for Physics I had to memorize that semester that memorizing European history just wasn’t happening and so I got a B. And you’d think that I’d be okay at Spanish, I live in New York after all, but the words always feel so stupid in my mouth and my pronunciation is terrible and so I practically fail every oral exam and—”

“What does it matter if you’re bad at Spanish?”

“Well I mean even if my GPA within my major is a 4.00, my GPA overall is a 3.5. Which is enough to get accepted into Columbia, but to get a scholarship at a school like Columbia or win a national scholarship competition that gives you enough money to make it worthwhile you need to be the top of the top. And well, I have a 3.5, only like one extracurricular, and work in a grocery store.”

“You work in a grocery store?”

“Yeah?”

“Really?”

“Maybe I should have stuck with the tell you nothing about my life policy.”

“No, I just mean—all of that is bull shit,” Tony said seriously.

“No, I swear I’ve talked to like my dean and professors and the people at the career center and this is just the way it works, you know.”

“That’s so fucked up.”

“I don’t know, I mean, Bruce said you give scholarships. I mean, maybe you don’t hand select the recipients personally, but I bet you aren’t giving them away to kids from Queens, and if you are you’re giving them to kids from Queens who went to the Bronx High School of Science or something and got really, really lucky with the rest of it.”

Tony honestly had no idea who his scholarships went to, he was never paying that much attention, even though he went to the receptions. But if his scholarships weren't going to kids like this kid, who showed a lot of potential but needed a bit more support to thrive, then who were they going to?

“Jarvis, pull up my scholarship winners from last year.”

“What—who’s Jarvis?”

Tony ignored the kid's question to turn back to a monitor to look at the information that was presented there.

_Simon Blanchard, graduated with above 102.6 cumulative GPA, valedictorian of an elite preparatory school, ran a STEM program at a local elementary school that gained recognition from the president._

_Rachel Meadows, also graduated with a higher than should have been possible GPA, valedictorian of an elite private school, designed and patented a device that aids in cancer treatment._

He checked the previous year’s recipients:

_Michael Waters, perfect GPA, valedictorian, class president, volunteered over 1,000 hours while also completing an internship program where he shadowed a famous neurosurgeon._

_Sam Jacobs, went to an alternative school that doesn’t give grades, but led a community farm program that donated five hundred pounds of fresh produce to local food pantries._

Then he checked the previous years and the year before that. It was all the same, different high schools, different absurd accomplishments, but the same. And there certainly wasn’t a kid from Queens who worked at a grocery store and was a physics prodigy but only kind of okay at history.

Tony remembered what Bruce said earlier, about how his life wouldn’t have taken the shape it did, no matter how smart he was, if he hadn’t been born into the family he was.

And Tony had written off Bruce, saying that genius will always rise to the top. And yet here this kid was, given two minutes in a lab and able to demonstrate his brilliance and no one else had ever noticed he was a prodigy.

“Sir?” the kids voice pulled him back.

“You’re right. I’ve only ever given scholarships to students who were demonstratable to be more than perfect. And whose parents probably could afford to pay their tuition to the most expensive school in the country outright.”

“It’s fine, sir, I didn’t mean to… well—they are all hardworking, brilliant kids, they deserve recognition too. I’m not saying they don’t. I’m saying _I_ don’t, why would I when there are kids out there, curing cancer before they can even vote?”

“But you could do so much, maybe even more than any of them could if given the chance.”

“And I have been given the chance,” the kid said earnestly. “I’m getting my degree. I’ll go on to get a job. I don’t need to go to the top ranked school in the country. I’m happy to get to go anywhere at all.”

Tony ran his hands through his hair. God this kid never ceased to be so incredibly frustrating!

“I’ll pay for you to go to Columbia,” Tony found himself saying then. “I don’t care who is supposed to get my scholarships this year, I’ll add another just for you if I have to.”

“Sir, really, please don’t say things like that.”

“No, it’s not fair. And it’s not a big deal for me, it doesn’t even matter to me and it could change your life.”

“I don’t need my life to change, sir, really. I’m making it work with what I have.”

“Then let me give you an internship.”

“Sir, no. I don’t want an internship.”

“But this is what all those rich kids do, they leverage, they take advantage of their connections, they win a birth lottery and keep winning from there.”

“I didn’t lose anything by being born sir, and I don’t want your money and I don’t want your internship.”

Tony tugged his hands through his hair again and groaned in frustration.

“Why the hell not, kid?”

“Because—because I just don’t,” the kid stammered. “And anyway, you don’t even like me.”

Tony paused and furrowed his brow.

“I don’t have to like you to know that you’d be a good investment. I spend money on things all the time that I don’t always particularly love because they’re good investments. And it’s not that I don’t like _you_ , anyway, I don’t really like anyone, if that helps. I’d probably be as annoyed to be spending this much time with anyone. Your particular brand of insufferability is just unexpected.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, sir, I guess, and I appreciate the offers, but really, I’d be grateful it if we could drop this conversation.”

Tony sighed, realizing there wasn't anything he could possibly say and do to change the stubborn kids mind.

“Fine, kid, if you won’t let me pay for your education, at least let me take you to breakfast.”

“It’s only like, 6 a.m.”

“Are you not hungry?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Just do us all a favor and say okay, kid.”

The kid didn’t say anything for a long moment, instead worrying the corner of the quantum model notes that were still in his hands between his fingers.

“Come on kid, let me buy you some waffles. Just waffles I promise. Unless you rather have an omelet.”

After another moment the kid sighed, placing the notes down on the table, sliding his hands into his pockets and pursing his lips as he rocked nervously on his heels for a few moments as he seemed to think.

“Okay. But I’m kind of a pancake man,” he finally said.

Tony smiled and rolled his eyes as he stood up from his chair.

“Whatever, kid. You’re wrong in that opinion. But whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates for everyone! Thanks to everyone who's been reading. Feel free to leave me a comment, I love them and you!
> 
> (Also please note I don't know a ton about physics so mostly I just inserted vocabulary I found on Wikipedia pages. But, I'm assuming *most* of you don't know a ton about physics either so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t want to talk about your burgeoning scientific genius, you don’t want to talk about your potential porn career, what do you want to talk about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a bonafide grown-up Peter and all the sass and complicatedness that comes with it (and also a bit of preciousness because Peter <3)

“Holy shit!” the kid exclaimed as the elevator doors slid open to reveal Tony’s personal garage under Stark Tower. “How could you—why would you even need this many cars? Particularly in New York? It takes five minutes to go a single block in a car!”

Tony had gotten them into the elevator and taken them down to the garage to pick up a car so he could drive them to his favorite diner on the upper west side.

“It’s not really about need, kid.”

“But—why not?”

“What do you mean ‘Why not?’? If I want something than I have it. If want a Lamborghini or a Porsche, then I get one. If want one in every color and model ever released, ditto.”

“But I mean, just because you _can_ have something, doesn’t mean you _should_ have it.”

“Why not?” Tony shrugged. “Are you recommending that I hoard my money, keep it in a vault somewhere and go swimming in it like Scrooge McDuck? At least if I’m spending my money it’s going back into the economy.”

“Are you seriously endorsing trickle-down economics to me right now?” the kid raised his eyebrows skeptically.

“I’m not endorsing anything, I’m just saying money is made to be spent.”

“But—I mean the gas mileage on cars like this—the planet is dying, sir!”

“If it makes you feel better kid, I don’t drive these cars very much or very far, honestly. I can’t remember needing to fill up the tank of any of them yet.”

“So you’re telling me you spend all this money on cars and you don’t even really like to drive them?”

“I like to drive them just fine. That’s what we came down here to do, isn’t it? I’m just a bit too busy for constant joyrides though.”

“What? You mean, this isn’t just the way out, you actually want to take one of these things outside? Onto the streets of New York? Where cars drive around with bumper guards hanging out of their trunk because they’ve just come to embrace that another car is going to knock into them at some point if they’re on the streets for long enough?”

“You were just berating me for not driving these cars enough a second ago, and now you’re complaining at me for trying to take one out?”

“But, I mean, can’t we just, you know, walk somewhere?”

“Look kid, I know you’re just a real professional at being stubborn and pretending you’re doing just peachy and all, but I see how you’re moving right now, even if at least now can without help,” Tony pointed out. The kid may have been able to walk without leaning on someone, but his steps were still stiff and careful, and his gait was obviously unnatural and showed signs of pain. “Plus, the place I had in mind is like forty blocks away.”

“There must be a café or something right across the street that opens early!”

“Kid, could you just pick a car, get in it, and shut up?”

“Pick? I—I don’t know anything about cars.”

“I didn’t say get in the car that you’ve jacked off to your entire childhood via a poster you framed above your bed; or get in the car you could take apart and put back together again. I said _pick_ one,” Tony said with a roll of the eyes but the kid was still sputtering. “How about I make it a little easier for you then, what color do you like? Black? Silver? Yellow?”

“Yellow?” the kid gasped. “Heck, we might as well take the red one then!”

“Red one it is!”

“Wait, no, I was being sarcastic!”

“Too late, you, I’d say your full name if I had the slightest idea what it was, are now the proud winner of the ride in the passenger seat of a Maserati GranTurismo! Unless that is _you_ want to drive it.”

“Drive it!” the kid gasped. “Holy shit what is wrong with you? Of course I don’t want to drive it!”

“You’re a kid of the male variety, aren’t you supposed to be drooling all over the fantasy of driving around New York in a cherry red sports car?”

“I don’t even have my license!” the kid protested.

“So? You’re with me kid, that hardly matters.”

“No. No way. I can’t believe you’d even suggest—what if I crashed it?”

“Then I’d buy another?”

“Oh my god,” the kid gasped, running his fingers through his hair. “Oh my god. Don’t you have anything more sensible?”

“Like what, a Prius, Mr. Oh-My-God-The-Gas-Mileage?”

“I don’t know, sure. Or like a Camry or a Civic or a nice normal car with millions like it on the road that draws absolutely no attention to itself.”

“What’s wrong with attention?”

“Oh my god, sir,” the kid groaned in response. “And you act like I’m the insanely annoying one. Please. Please just kill me now. I can’t with this.”

“You _can’t_ with this? What is that supposed to mean?”

“There is no way—there is just no way. I can't believe this," the kid muttered, not seeming interested in talking directly to Tony anymore, and instead seeming to attempt to make an effort to pace back and forth, although he only managed a few jilted steps in either direction before giving up the unnecessary movement.

“Hey J," Tony called out. "I think I broke the kid. Do you have any suggestions?”

“I don’t know sir,” Jarvis replied, and the kid practically jumped out of his skin. “Perhaps I could call a car for you. That does tend to be the smarter option.”

“What the hell is that?”

“Taking the kids side, J? Traitor.” Tony responded to the A.I. “And that’s just Jarvis,” he told the kid flippantly.

“Jarvis?”

“Never mind, would you just get in the car?”

“But—”

“Come on kid," Tony pleaded. "How about if you ride in it later today I’ll auction it off and donate the proceeds to save the whales or something.”

“The whales?” the kid asked skeptically.

“Sure, you seem to care about the planet. Do you have something against whales?”

“No sir, I—I just—”

“The whale offer expires in 5, 4, 3, 2…”

“Okay!” the kid said, pulling open the door and hopping into the passenger seat.

“Excellent choice, kid. I’ll make sure the whales send you a personal thank you.”

“You’d really sell the car?” the kid asked doubtfully.

“Sure, charitable donations are good for both tax deductions and my image. Plus, I can just buy the newer model.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed kid,” Tony said as he started the car up and drove out the exit of the garage.

“I’m not disappointed, sir. The bar for you is so low I don’t think you could disappoint me.”

“Ouch!” Tony said, lifting a hand from the steering wheel to shake like he’d been burned. “What could little old me possibly have done to deserve such a sick burn?”

“ _Sick burn?_ ” the kid asked, raising his eyebrows. “Aren’t you like, sixty?”

Tony gasped in horror.

“You apologize for that young man or I’m turning this car right around and you’re grounded!”

“Fine, turn the car around! I didn’t want to ride in it with you anyway!”

In that moment the two of them exchanged a look—the kid smiling and Tony rolling his eyes and letting out a chuckle.

“Really though, you don’t think I’m sixty, do you?” Tony asked. “I’ve spent a lot of money on Botox, and if it’s making me look older than I need to sue.”

“Really? Botox?”

“So I take it you think I’m young enough to not need Botox then?”

“I don’t know, probably. You’re like thirty-something, right?”

“Unfortunately, increasingly more something than thirty, but yeah, that’s the ballpark.”

“I mean, you’ve spent all night calling me kid even though I’m a certified adult. Do you know how annoying having a baby face is? Everyone is always like, ‘You’ll appreciate it when you’re older!’ but they’ve been telling me that since I was sixteen and looked twelve.”

“I don’t know, there’s got to be perks for being twenty-one and looking seventeen,” Tony shrugged.

“Oh, yeah, I could have a very successful porn career, lots of roleplaying being with teachers or step parents.”

Tony choked on his own saliva.

“I was thinking more like getting the children’s ticket price at museums, ordering chicken nuggets off the kids menu at restaurants.”

“That seems to be thinking pretty small, I thought you said you were a business man?”

“Are you trying to get me to be your pimp or something?”

Now it was the kids turn to choke.

“No!” he gasped, turning a bit red in the cheeks. “Of course not. I didn’t mean—I was just saying—it was—”

“A joke kid, I know, I was making one too.”

There was a painfully awkward silence for half a beat before the kid said, “Oh,” and let out a slightly forced sounding laugh. “Yeah, I knew that.”

“So I take it you want to change the topic from how much a twink you are?”

The kid made a slightly pained sound.

“Yeah, that would—that would be great.”

Tony tutted in the quickly falling silence.

“Sooo,” Tony said, dragging out the word and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Where did you go to high school then?” he asked a few seconds later.

“I see that our not asking questions policy has gone out the window.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Tony shrugged.

“No, it’s fine. I went to Midtown.”

“Huh,” Tony responded.

“What?”

“You were just making it seem like you went to some decrepit P.S. something or other where only 10% of the kids are at their reading level.”

“No, I wasn’t. I said I didn’t go to Bronx Science and then continued to get lucky. In fact, I've repeatedly told you that my life was just fine, you’re the one who seemed to decide my life was full of injustice. Midtown High and Queens College are both great schools, they just aren’t the biggest names that always rank at the top of the list.”

“I’m just saying that you have a lot of potential that isn’t getting the recognition it deserves.”

“I’m saying I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

“You don’t want to talk about your burgeoning scientific genius, you don’t want to talk about your potential porn career, what do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know—um, what’s your favorite color?”

Tony raised his eyebrows, but answered none the less.

“Gold.”

“Really… how cliché for Scrooge McDuck.”

“Well what’s yours?” Tony asked defensively.

“I like blue. Red is alright when not on a sports car.”

“I also like red too, but _only_ on shiny things.”

“Oh, of course.”

“So do I get to ask you a question now?” Tony asked.

“If you want.”

“Mm," Tony hummed as he thought. "What’s your favorite food?”

“Mm, all of them? I’m a pretty big fan of a good sandwich, but you can’t go wrong with pizza. My aunt can’t cook anything for the life of her, but she is really good at making fancy ramen, like putting vegetables and meat and an egg in it.”

“So you’re close with your aunt?”

“Nuh-uh, it’s my turn to ask a question. Don’t you know the rules?” the kid scolded.

“There are rules?”

“Of course there are rules! Although really that’s the only one.”

“Okay, fine, ask me a question then.”

“If you could be anything, what would you be?”

“What do you mean by ‘be’? Like profession? Animal? Vegetable? Mineral?”

“I’ll let you interpret it how you want.”

“I mean, I like the job I currently have just fine.”

“That’s a shitty non-answer.”

“I don’t know though!” Tony defended. “Maybe—maybe I’d be like a super hero of some sort,” Tony said, turning to glance over at the kid to gauge his reaction.

The kid looked a bit surprised, but he quickly seemed to take it in stride.

“Why?”

“Nuh-uh, you said no follow up questions until I’ve had my turn. Now tell me about your aunt.”

“I live with my aunt.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Am I going to have to use a separate question to get you to elaborate?”

“Probably.”

“Fine,” Tony shrugged. “I think I’d be a super hero because it’s one of the few things I don’t think money could buy me. It would be really fucking cool, and it’s one of the few things in the world that just because I want doesn’t mean I can have.”

“Huh,” the kid said, seeming to take Tony’s response very seriously. "I bet there are lots of ways you could be a super hero, or at least super hero adjacent with enough money. Super hero's protect things. I bet the whales will think you're a super hero after you save them."

"I think heroics are pretty subjective, and none of it matters is I can't fly or lift a car over my head."

"Hm," was all the kid said in response.

“So, why do you live with your aunt?”

“My parents are dead.”

“Oh," was all Tony could seem to get himself to say. "Mine are too,” he offered after a beat as he turned to look at the kid. The kid offered a sympathetic half smile in return before looking away and seeming to get lost in thought.

“So how many questions are we up to?” Tony asked a moment later.

“Huh?” the kid asked, looking back up at him.

“We’re playing twenty questions, right?”

“Oh, um, I think we’ve each done like two? Three? We don’t have to keep count" he shrugged. "If you think it’s stupid we can stop," he added, suddenly sounding tired and small.

“Woah, kid, what’s with the mood swing?”

“What?" the kid asked. "There’s no mood swing.”

“Really, cause just a few seconds ago you were interrogating me and now you’ve gone all quiet.”

“Oh...sorry.”

Tony sighed and found himself rolling his eyes for the thousandth time that day. So instead he reached into his pocket and took out his wallet.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, pulling out some money and handing it to the kid.

“This is a hundred-dollar bill.”

“Well then I guess you just owe me a lot more thoughts,” Tony smiled. The kid looked at Tony with raised eyebrows before placing the bill back into the palm of Tony’s hand, and then carefully closed Tony’s fingers up over it.

“It’s just a lot, you know?”

“What is?”

“People dying.”

_Oh._

“Yeah, it is kid. It’s a hell of a lot,” he murmured eventually in response.

They pulled up to a stoplight and Tony turned yet again to glance over at the kid, who he found staring into his lap, nervously fiddling with his fingers. Eventually, the kid looked up at him, only for the briefest of moments to offer him the slightest quirk of his lips.

Then there was a blaring honk from behind them.

“I think the light is green,” the kid said softly.

“I’ll move when I’m damn well ready,” Tony insisted.

There were more horns blaring.

“And I think I’m ready now,” he muttered, stepping on the gas and blazing down the street with a rev of the engine, the kid sitting beside him in silence.

“So were you really serious about the whales?” the kids voice suddenly interrupted after a solid few minutes of strained silence.

Tony could almost have laughed, but instead he just smiled and gave his eyeballs yet another workout as he rolled them yet again.

“Sure kid, I’ll save the whales for you.”

“Not for me!” the kid protested. “Just because the whales are worth saving. That's what a hero would do.”

“Okay, kid. You got it. Just for the whales.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally falling asleep, but for some reason was determined to get this up. Leave me comments to read when I wake up in the morning!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But you didn’t answer the first question!” the kid protested. “The rule is you can ask as many follow up questions as you want until the first question is answered.”
> 
> “That ever so conveniently— for you—wasn’t the rule earlier.”

“So that guy is just going to take your car, and like, not go for a joyride like in _Ferris Bueller’s Day Off_?” the kid asked. Even though he was still walking a bit like there was a stick up his ass, the kid somehow seemed to be vibrating as he walked down the sidewalk beside Tony.

“If he did he’d probably spend at least a decade in jail,” Tony replied.

“And he’s not going to have a panic attack while driving it down into the garage and accidently crash it or something? Cause that’s what I would do.”

“This is literally his job, kid, relax. And again, the worst thing that happens is I lose a thing that according to you I don’t even need in the first place.”

“If you insist that’s the worst-case scenario,” the kid said, sounding not at all convinced. “But maybe he’ll steal it and crash it right into the restaurant and kill us both.”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“And that would be a pity. At least, I’m sure people would miss me, anyway. You, maybe not so much,” he teased ( _teased?_ ).

“Hey!” the kid protested, but Tony immediately interrupted.

“Come on kid, the restaurant’s this way.”

Tony and the kid walked around the block from the garage and over to the restaurant. It was a retro style diner, but one that almost felt like it had some actual history instead of just being done up as a tourist trap. And while the prices weren’t exactly 50’s inspired they weren’t comically atrocious either, which Tony did appreciate, no matter how many ridiculous cars he bought. Spending $100,000 on a car was one thing. Spending $18 for a waffle was another.

Tony led the kid into the diner and sat them down together at a booth in the back, the restaurant relatively quiet at a quarter to seven on a weekday morning.

“Good morning, gentleman!” a waitress greeted with way too much pep for such an early hour. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll have a coffee. Kid, you want one?”

“No, I don’t drink coffee. Can I have some orange juice, please?” the kid smiled politely at the waitress.

“You don’t drink coffee, kid? And you couldn’t stay in bed for more than three hours last night night? What are you on speed or something? Or is it Adderall the kids are taking these days?”

The kid shot the waitress a sympathetic smile as she looked between the two of them before turning and leaving the table.

“The Adderall is prescribed, but thank you, sir, for the concern.”

“Hm,” Tony said without much interest in the information. “So, did that count as my question?”

“If it didn’t, then that did,” the kid said as the waitress came back and dropped off their drinks.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ll have the waffles, he’ll have the pancakes. And can you put some of that fruit on mine, those strawberries?” Tony ordered for them. “You want fruit kid?” he asked. The kid shook his head.

“Anything else?” the waitress asked.

“Nope, thanks doll,” Tony smiled with his trademark combination dismissive and flirty smile.

The kid looked at him with his eyebrows raised.

“Have I offended you in some way?” Tony asked him.

“Oh, probably, but I’m getting used to it.”

Yet another eye roll occurred on Tony’s part.

“Okay, kid, so what’s your question then?”

“Oh, um,” the kid said, looking thoughtful. “I got it. If you could have anything, what would it be?”

Man, the kid was really going to tough, ambiguous, overly sentimental, and irrelevant stuff, wasn’t he? No _“What do you do for a living?”_ or “ _Why is there a disembodied voice that answers you when you talk to it in your apartment?”_ or any of the other things that they had previously skipped over but could now be fair game. Nope, straight to _“Could you bear your soul for me?”_

“Oh wow, kid, I mean, that's kind of a hard one, honestly."

“Hard because you can buy everything you want?” the kid asked.

“No, hard because there are lots of things I can’t have.”

“Like the ability to fly and lift a car over your head?” the kid said before taking a sip of his juice.

“Exactly like that, and also lots of other things.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, like adult stuff,” Tony shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Adult stuff? I can’t imagine you have a hard time getting laid. Or do you have, like, really crazy kinks?” the kid said matter-of-factly, and Tony practically spit out his coffee all over the kid.

“Okay, I’m calling the follow up rule for that.”

“But you didn’t answer the first question!” the kid protested. “The rule is you can ask as many follow up questions as you want until the first question is answered.”

“That ever so conveniently— for you—wasn’t the rule earlier,” Tony pointed out.

“Oh, did I forget about it?” the kid said, being far too successful at looking innocent for the briefest of moments. “That happens sometimes. Things just… slip my mind? Or, maybe it’s the concussion,” the kid finished, failing horribly at suppressing a triumphant grin.

“Oh sure, Mr. I-Read-and-Retain-Everything.”

“I don’t have a photographic memory sir, I told you I’m just good at math and science. If I had a photographic memory I would have gotten an A in history."

God, if eyes were muscles, Tony’s would have been fucking ripped from the workout they’d gotten today.

But yet the kid just stared at him, smiling mischievously while his stupid earnest puppy dog eyes bored straight into Tony’s soul.

“I think my answer is probably the same as everyone else’s answer.”

“You’re _really_ kinky then, eh?”

Tony let his head slump in defeat.

“No, I mean, the thing I want, if I could have anything—I hate to ruin this complete bastard impression you probably have of me—but it would just be like, you know, er—”

“Come on sir, it’s just a word, surely.”

“Love,” Tony said quickly, feeling so incredibly stupid and just a little insane for saying the word out loud. And of course he said it somehow at the exact moment the waitress dropped off their meals. “I’d probably have that,” he finished softly to the kid, ignoring the waitress hovering over them. "Or something," he added awkwardly. "I'm not tied to it. It's just a thought. Probably better in theory than in practice," Tony found himself rambling.

“Is there, uh, anything else I can get for you?” the waitress asked awkwardly.

Tony somehow managed to get himself to look across at the kid only to catch a look on his face that could best be described as _pitying_.

“Oh,” the kid said softly. “Oh, no thanks, ma’am,” he added quickly, smiling at the waitress.

For a moment they were silent, both of them staring down at their plates.

“The waffles look good,” the kid said after a moment.

“I told you that you were wrong about pancakes.”

The kid only hummed in response.

“So, is it my turn to ask a question again?” Tony asked a second later.

“Sure,” the kid shrugged as he picked up his fork and knife to cut into his pancakes.

“So" Tony started as he poked a strawberry off the top of his waffle, "How’d you end up in the trash pile?”

Tony couldn’t help but be curious. And while the kid was set on probing Tony about meaningless sentiment, Tony was more goal oriented and had less shame it would seem. The kid was pretty seriously banged up when Tony had found him, after all. And even more so, now that he knew the kid a bit better, he seemed to be a pretty clean-cut kid—not the kind of person to end up beat up in an alley and tossed in the trash.

But then, the kid _was_ pretty annoying, maybe he’d managed to piss off someone who wasn’t willing to give the kid a second, and third, and fourth, and five hundredth chance and actually end up becoming _almost_ , emphasis on the almost, fond of the kid like Tony had.

But the kid immediately froze at the question and in an instant Tony realized despite recent developments, some things were going to remain secret.

“Pass,” the kid said.

“What?”

“You can pass on any question. It’s in the rules.”

“Oh, is it now?”

“Yeah, always was.”

“Right,” Tony sighed. “Okay, well you owe me _something_ intimate.”

The kid scrunched up his face a bit but shrugged none the less.

“Ask away, sir. Whatever you want,” he said. “Another rule is after a pass, the asker is allowed to ask another hard or uncomfortable question and there is increased pressure for the askee to answer. It is only fair, after all, I guess.”

“I’m having a hard time believing that, kid. Especially since you told me there was only one rule when we started playing this game.”

“Well, there is only one official rule. The rest are modifications designed to keep game play fair and fun. If you really want though, maybe someday we can play no-holds twenty questions. But definitely not today," the kid offered Tony a smile.

The mention of a future for this little relationship of theirs, whatever kind of relationship this was, did not go unnoticed by Tony. It did, however, seem to go unnoticed by the kid.

“Really,” the kid continued. “You want to know about my first time? Or how my parents died? I’m an open book, sir, ask me anything other than that.”

“Tempting,” Tony said. “But I just got another idea.”

“Okay, shoot,” the kid smiled.

“What’s your name?”

“My name?” the kid frowned.

“Yeah, your name. Just the first will suffice. Even a nickname will do.”

“Oh,” the kid said, now looking a bit surprised, as if he’d almost forgotten that Tony didn’t know his name to begin with. “It’s Peter.”

“Peter,” Tony repeated, trying it out in his mouth.

“Yup,” the kid—Peter—said, popping the ‘p’. “Sometimes Pete. A kid I went to high school with sometimes called me ‘Penis,’ but I’d really prefer if you didn’t call me that.”

“Huh, Peter.”

“Yeah,” the kid said, furrowing his brow, “Do I not look like a Peter, sir?”

“No, you’re a Peter just fine.”

“Well alright then,” the kid shrugged. “So is it my turn for a question?”

“It would seem so, Pete.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“So,” he began, but then paused for a moment. “Why aren’t you trying to get rid of me anymore?” he finally asked.

Tony pursed his lips and furrowed his brow at the question- mostly because it was one he didn't know the answer to.

“I don’t know," Tony admitted. "I guess I wasn’t really thinking about it much. Should I be thinking about it more?”

Peter shrugged.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Did that count as my question?”

“No, I’ll let both of those slide.”

Tony smiled.

“So, do you have another question then?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, actually,” Tony said. “Are you still itching to get back to Queens?”

Peter just looked at Tony for a moment, and then took a slow sip of his juice before he finally answered.

“No, I guess I’m not. I wasn’t really thinking about it much,” Peter said. “Should I?”

Tony decided to use that moment to slice off a hunk of his waffle and stuff it into his mouth.

“No,” he said, mid-chew. “I don’t think so.”

The kid smiled and ducked his head before taking his own massive bite of his pancakes. Then looked back up at Tony, continuing to grin at him, except now with his cheeks stuffed with pancake and puffed out like a chipmunk.

Tony couldn’t help but laugh.

“Whuuff?” Peter asked with his too full mouth.

Tony said nothing and took another bite of his waffle, watching on with slight amusement as the kid cut himself another bite of his pancakes before he’d even swallowed the previous.

"Nothing, kid," Tony laughed. "It's all alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick chapter! Feat. development of some kind or another. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos and stuff!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on kid, you’ve been caught, just admit it.”
> 
> “Sir—”
> 
> “Peter,” Tony said sharply. “Admit it!”

Tony’s phone was ringing, and he really wished it wasn’t.

“Yup,” he said as a means of answering.

“Tony, where the hell are you?” Pepper asked, sounding stressed and pissed off at him as she almost always did.

Tony looked across the table at the kid, who was now looking at him with concerned, slightly panicked eyes. Tony pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed it against his chest.

“One second, Pete.”

Peter smiled politely in that way that he so often did when his eyes were telling another story, and Tony stood up from the table and walked across the diner over to a nook by the restrooms for some privacy.

“It’s 7:30 in the morning, Pep, where could I possibly have forgotten to be at 7:30 in the morning?”

“Who were you talking to?”

“That kid from last night. I told you about him when I asked you to get me a car, last night. Surely you haven’t forgotten, Pep?”

“Oh my god Tony, don’t tell me you slept with him!”

“I didn’t sleep with him,” Tony immediately defended. “Why does everyone think I slept with him? Just because I bring home some cute young guy doesn’t mean I have to sleep with him. He stayed the night and I’m going to take him to get checked out by a doctor this morning. Plus, since when do I ever get breakfast with the people I sleep with?”

“Fine, you’re just being nice to a literal stranger for no reason, whatever you say Tony,” Pepper said with an exasperated sigh. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to be on a call with Richmond fifteen minutes ago!”

“No, I’m not,” Tony defended. “I told you on Sunday to clear my schedule for the week because I wanted to work on the Stark A.I.” Tony said. “And why the fuck would anyone schedule a call at like 7 a.m.?”

“And I told you I cancelled everything except for your meeting with the head of global marketing about the A.I. launch, who is in China right now, by the way, and who we’re keeping from dinner because he’s waiting for you!”

“We’ll, I’m at breakfast, and I’m not taking the call. Reschedule. Or take it yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing with a kid, but you can’t blow off your life at every distraction that comes along, Tony.”

“Okay, listen Pep, one, I’m not doing anything with the kid except eating breakfast, B, blowing off life the second a distraction comes along is literally all I ever do, and for my last point, _I was never going to take that call_ , even if all I was doing was sitting alone in my lab this morning.”

“Tony—”

“Nope, deal with it Potts,” he said matter-of-factly, hoping to put an end to the discussion. “Right now, there’s a kid looking at me worriedly from across the room with these big stupid puppy dog eyes, and I inevitably now will have to go spend ten minutes trying to convince him that he isn’t an inconvenience to me.”

“What?”

“Goodbye, Pepper. I’ll chat with you, I don’t know, the next time you call me, inevitably,” Tony said. “I’ll have Jarvis send you the updated system design for the A.I., send them along to China or whatever.”

Pepper sighed.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

“Okay, mom,” Tony said as he hung up the phone before heading back over to the table.

“Sorry, kid,” Tony said as he sat back down, “Just some business I apparently forgot to take care of.”

“Is there somewhere you need to be?” Peter asked. “We can leave. I’ll just go stop by a walk-in clinic on my way home or something, let you get back to work.”

“Nuh-uh, Pete, we’ve been over this.”

“But—”

“I’m not missing anything I wouldn’t have missed whether or not I was here with you,” Tony explained.

“Oh,” Peter said.

“So, are you ready to get out of here then?”

“I thought you said my appointment wasn’t until ten?”

“It isn’t, but I have somewhere I’d like to take you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Come on,” he said as he led the kid out of the diner. “You good to walk a couple blocks? The short ways, not the long ways.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I’m feeling a lot better, I swear.”

“I’m sure you are, kid,” Tony said. “We’re definitely still going to get you an x-ray though,” he reinterated. “So, did we hit twenty questions yet?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I haven’t really been counting. Whose turn was it?”

“Mine.”

“Of course you think it was yours,” Peter laughed.

“It definitely was! Because you made me answer that question about giant puppies or whatever.”

“It was, ‘Would you rather have an elephant sized puppy, or a puppy sized elephant?’,” Peter reiterated.

“And the obvious answer is a giant puppy, to ride into battle.”

“No! The obvious answer is a puppy sized elephant, because how cute would a mini elephant be! Everyone picks puppy sized elephant. Puppies are too poorly trained to take into battle, anyway. And then what if it got hurt or even killed!?”

“We literally have already had this conversation, Pete.”

“Well, I’m still upset about it.”

Tony threw his arm over the kids shoulder and led him around a corner, hanging his head in defeat.

“What am I going to do with you, kid?” he sighed.

“I believe what you were angling to do was ask me another question,” Peter responded.

“Okay, okay, let me come up with one,” Tony said. “Okay, I’ve got it. If you had a billion dollars, what would you do with it?”

“Probably donate it,” Peter said immediately

“You can’t donate a billion dollars, kid.”

“Of course you can,” Peter said matter-of-factly, shrugging off Tony’s arm from around his shoulder. “Maybe not all to one place, but there are thousands upon thousands of non-profits in the world, and a million scientists who need money to fund their research, and foundations that have been set up to give things like grants and scholarships. You’d probably need to hire a few people to manage it all, but that’s not a bad thing.”

“But that’s the thing, kid, if you took that billion dollars and instead started a company, that company could put thousands of jobs into the market.”

“But if you donate a large sum of money to a non-profit, they’ll probably use some of that money to create new positions to better manage or expand their programming or fundraising efforts,” the kid said. “And if you donate to a research foundation, they can hire more people to work harder and faster on whatever problem they’re working to find a solution for. If you give a grant to a school, they might hire additional staff to lower class sizes or hire an additional guidance counselor to help students,” Peter continued to defend. “Plus, I don’t have a business idea, so I might as well give the money to people who already do,” the kid shrugged. “Speaking of which, there are even organizations now that allow you to give loans to small businesses in developing countries, so I could invest in local business in struggling communities too,” the kid added seeming a bit excited at the thought.

“But that’s also the thing, if you invest the money whether in your own company or someone elses, it grows, and you can donate smaller sums for generations.”

“I don’t know what kind of interest rate you can get on a billion dollars, but I’m sure I could hire some people to figure out exactly how much money can be given away at any given point while leaving a substantial amount to grow before donating that interest. It’s not like I would magically be able to, poof, get rid of all the money overnight.”

“I just—”

“I get it, sir,” Peter cut him off. “You like your money. You like having it. You like feeling good about having a foundation and giving back, but you like being able to buy whatever you want. You like having the option of being able to fill a vault with money and go swimming like Scrooge McDuck. And while there are objectively a lot of things very wrong with that—that’s your choice to make. And I’m sure you like thinking that if I actually had a billion dollars, I’d suddenly see the world like you do and understand why you can’t give it all away, too.”

Tony found himself stopping in his tracks and looking at Peter with a furrowed brow.

“You don’t like me, do you?” he suddenly found himself asking.

“I don’t know you, sir.”

“Yes you do,” he said, and in an instant, he was sure of it. “Yes you do,” Tony said, shaking his head in stunned disbelief.

Tony couldn’t put together how he knew the kid knew—how he’d figured it out. But he knew. Suddenly, he was sure of it. A little something about everything, it must have been. Or maybe he didn’t know at all. Maybe this was a gamble he’d be wrong about. But he really, really doubted that.

“Sir—” Peter said.

“It’s why you don’t care about asking about my job, or my apartment, or my cars, or Jarvis, or my life at all. Because you already know.” Tony cut in before the kid could continue, trying to pull the strings together.

“Sir, really—”

“And it’s why you wouldn’t take my money, isn’t it?”

“Sir, I swear—"

“Come on kid, you’ve been caught, just admit it.”

“Sir—”

“Peter,” Tony said sharply. “Admit it!”

“I didn’t want your money because it’s dirty, Mr. Stark,” the kid said tersely. 

Tony knew he could have, maybe even should have been angry. But that’s not what he felt in this moment. In this moment, Tony Stark felt a little giddy, like this wasn’t actually his life but a scene he’d been watching in a movie and he’d just gotten the adrenaline rush from a huge reveal.

“Oh man kid, that’s great,” Tony smiled and shook his head. “So, when did you know? You must have figured it out a while ago.”

The kid looked at him in confusion.

“Anyone who’s ever spent five minutes looking at the magazines while in line for check out at the grocery store would recognize you. I don’t think there is a magazine you haven’t been on the cover of.”

 _But that’s the thing_ , Tony thought. _They usually don’t_.

No one had this morning, and if they did they didn’t care. But then he remembered something the kid had said earlier.

“And you _work_ at a grocery store.”

“And I sometimes stock the magazines.”

“Huh,” Tony said, shaking his head and smiling with bemused wonder. “And you said you had a terrible memory.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, looking down at his feet nervously.

God, this kid. Fucking Peter, man. Gotta love him.

“So, we better get going again if we want to make sure we have enough time for the surprise before your appointment,” Tony said, and the kid immediately looked up at him with those ever wide, surprised eyes.

“What?” he asked. You mean, you aren’t going to go running back off to your fancy car and speed off to your tower and get to work developing some memory altering device, so you can literally forget I even exist?”

Tony laughed, and the kid looked a little frightened, as if he’d only just in that moment realized he was in the company of a certified crazy person.

“Nah, kid,” Tony said, slinging his arm back over the kid’s shoulder. “You’re too much fun.”

“What? Me?” Peter asked, flounderingly. “Mr. Stark, sir, I think there must be some kind of misunderstanding—”

“You might as well just call me Tony, kid,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “You might as well,” he repeated as he started walking again, dragging a wide-eyed Peter along beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just when I was thinking I had no idea where to take this story, next, this happens, as it ever so obviously should.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter raised his eyebrows skeptically but didn’t say anything.
> 
> “Do you have a question?” Tony asked knowingly.
> 
> “Is it my turn?” Peter asked, a bit of sass in his voice that made Tony feel a little giddier, and his smile brightened at the call back to their little game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A real quick chapter that wins a medal for being the most nothing-happens-but-Peter-and-Tony-have-a-conversation in a fic that's entire plot could probably be described as nothing-happens-but-Peter-and-Tony-have-a-conversation.

“Okay,” Tony announced. “We’re here. Well, here-ish,” Tony said, as he suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“This is an Urban Outfitters,” Peter pointed out after a beat.

“Excellent observation.”

“Are we—are we going to an Urban Outfitters?” Peter asked, his brow furrowed, and head cocked a bit to the side.

“No,” Tony said simply.

“Okay, then, um, where are we going?” he asked awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Tony smiled.

“Up,” he said, popping the ‘p’.

“Up?” Peter asked, craning his head back.

“Yeah, up,” Tony said, gesturing to the shiny glass high rise condominium complex that towered above the clothing retailer.

He watched as Peters brow knit tighter.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve always wanted to,” Tony shrugged.

“Your building is at least fifty stories taller than this,” Peter pointed out.

“So?”

“So,” Peter emphasized the word, “Why would you be fixated on this building when it’s probably a third of the size of the building you literally live in?”

Tony shrugged.

“Because I want to know what you can see from the top of it,” he offered casually. “I bet you can see the river—we’re close enough, but I’ve always wondered what the view of the park is in the other direction.”

“What?” Peter said, spinning around to look east towards where central park would have been beyond several blocks of buildings. He looked out over them calculatingly, as if trying to figure out the answer in his head based just on the view from the ground.

“Well you see, I was taking some krav maga classes at a place around the corner, and so every week I’d see this building, and I wondered about it, you know, in that way that someone who builds what is currently the fifth tallest tower in the city tends to think about the real estate value of height.”

“You were—you were taking krav maga?” Peter asked, apparently deciding to ignore Tony’s fixation on the not particularly noteworthy high-rise right now all together. Tony noticed, then, as he looked at Peter how he looked a little tired actually, and he suddenly regretted not pushing the kid to rest more and instead giving in to his own restlessness and dragging him around the city.

“Yup,” Tony answered, rocking on his heels. Peter pursed his lips, but his eyes drooped a bit instead of widening or narrowing to express emotions as they usually did.

Maybe he should have just let Peter go home earlier. Maybe he should have responded a little less manically to him admitting he’d known who Tony the entire time was. Even if the kid seemed to at least ideologically despise Tony or something, he seemed almost alarmingly content to let Tony make every decision in spite of what he may actually have wanted.

“I didn’t realize you were actually training to become a super hero,” the kid said, offering Tony a small quirk of his lips that instantly undid all of Tony’s guilt and worry over him.

Tony rolled his eyes and returned the smile.

“It’s a good workout. It looked cool, being able to kill someone with your bare hands or whatever,” Tony shrugged.

Peter raised his eyebrows skeptically but didn’t say anything.

“Do you have a question?” Tony asked knowingly.

“Is it my turn?” Peter asked, a bit of sass in his voice that made Tony feel a little giddier, and his smile brightened at the call back to their little game.

“How about I give you five bonus questions, for being such a good sport. You’ve just used up two though, so use the other three wisely.”

Peter gave Tony a _look_ that he wasn’t quite sure was entirely encouraging, but none the less he seemed to go along with it.

“Why were you really taking krav maga in the Upper West Side of all places?” he asked.

Tony wasn’t sure entirely what answer the kid was expecting, but suddenly Tony realized that the story wasn’t in fact all that interesting. At least perhaps not to a kid who got himself dumped in garbage heaps and wouldn’t tell anyone why and was now running on less than two hours of sleep. But if anyone could take a relatively uninteresting and, if anything, slightly problematic story and turn it into a full production, it was Tony Stark.

“Well, you see, my insomnia got especially bad a while back,” Tony began. “And Pepper threatened to check me into a hospital if I didn’t at least try a bit harder to get some sleep.” _Eye roll to demonstrate exactly how you felt about that._ “And of course, I told her I did _try_ to sleep, but for _some_ reason she didn’t seem to believe me.” _Pause to take a dramatic sigh_. “ _She_ said I needed to find _something to tire me out_. And yada yada yada, I made a joke about sex that offended her, she turned Jarvis, _my own A.I._ , against me and got him to stop speaking to me unless I was lying in bed for at least four hours a night, and well moral of the story I decided that a couple times a week I’d take a krav maga class.” _Finish with a shrug to express casual indifference._

Tony looked back at the kid to find that he didn’t seem to be particularly amused by the story, in spite of Tony’s best efforts.

“There were two aspects of that question, and you only answered one,” Peter pointed out.

“Oh, right, getting smart Pete,” Tony said, suddenly overtaken with the urge to reach out and ruffle the kid’s hair. The look of what-the-fuck-are-you-doing on Peter’s face as he ducked away from Tony’s hand was, Tony thought, priceless. “What am I saying? You were already smart,” Tony grinned.

“I figured krav maga would help, but probably wouldn’t be enough, so I picked the farthest away school I could stand the idea of going to, and then I’d run there and back,” Tony continued. “That’s how I found the diner. I’d go there after class to take a break before having to run home,” Tony said. “And let me tell you, it did certainly help me sleep.”

Peter nodded, still looking a little skeptical and a little like he thought Tony was insane.

“That’s cool and all Tony, but well, I think I’m taking Pepper and Jarvis’s sides.”

“What?” Tony gasped, in part mock, part real surprise and horror.

“If your mind is still active enough to fixate on some random building that you see on your workout, maybe you do need to medical professional to check you out, make sure you’re not going to accidently fry your brain.”

“I’ve made it this far on my own just fine, kid.”

“So have I, and yet here I am with you,” Peter responded, looking at Tony with a bit of the serious earnestness back in his eyes.

For a long moment Tony only could stare back until it all became too much, and he had to look away.

“So, are you going to refuse to go up with me then?”

“I didn’t say that,” Peter said instantly. “I’m just wondering why you couldn’t have like run a simulation or something? Used google maps and had that robot pal of yours do a bit of geometry and upload the results to some VR glasses?”

The calculating look on the kid’s face as he’d surveyed the skyline suddenly made a bit more sense. The kid really was at least a little brilliant.

“Huh,” Tony said. “I guess. But why would I do that when the old-fashioned way of getting the answer is so much more fun? Plus, then what would we have done to kill time?”

Peter sighed and shook his head, but he was smiling and it warmed Tony’s cold, dead heart.

“Okay,” he said, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Then let’s go inside.”

Tony smiled.

“I thought you’d never agree,” he said, beaming. “So, where’s the door?”

“What?”

“The building is up there,” Tony gestured to the high rise above them “The Urban Outfitters is here,” he gestured to the store that was situated under the building at street level. “But no entrance to the high rise.”

Peter looked at Tony blankly.

“It’s probably around the side, then,” he said, as if it was obvious.

Tony slumped a bit.

“Really? It took me like three weeks of recon to figure that out.”

“No, it didn’t,” Peter said with a bit of a chuckle.

“Okay,” Tony admitted. “But I did have to ask Jarvis.”

“Did he think you were being ridiculous?”

“Jarvis always thinks I’m being ridiculous.”

The kid quirked his lips into a smile and Tony could have punched the air in victory at the sight of it.

“So are we going to go inside then? Or are you going to make me guess which side of the block it’s on and make the poor injured kid walk in circles around the block?”

“Oh, boo, stop complaining. Twenty minutes ago, you were emphasizing how peachy you were and now you’re giving me all this sass and pulling the injury card?”

“Sorry sir, I’m just a little tired, I guess,” the kid finally admitted. Tony smiled at him sympathetically.

“You really have to stop calling me 'sir'."

“Sorry Mr. Stark.”

Tony just glared at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading somewhere, I promise. Currently it's to the top of a random ass high rise condo building. But hey, that's somewhere.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you coming or not?” Peter asked as he held open the door, caught up in the wind that rushed around outside.
> 
> “Who are you, kid?” Tony asked as he reached out to hold open the door.
> 
> “I thought we’d established this earlier—I’m no one,” Peter shrugged before stepping out of the doorway and disappearing from sight.

“So how are we going to, you know, get up there?” Peter asked as they walked into the lobby of the high-rise. “You going to bribe the doorman? Buy a condo on the spot? Just buy the building?”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“No, I was just going to, you know, head up,” he offered casually.

“What? Isn’t there security? Won’t the doorman recognize that you don’t live here? Or at least try to make you sign in?”

“Do you think I don’t look like I belong here?” Tony asked.

That particular day he wasn’t dressed as nicely as he sometimes occasionally was in the name of being a billionaire industrialist. But, even though Peter was still in his sweats, Tony had at least bothered to grab himself a nice leather jacket that looked like the money he’d probably spent on it on the way out the door, as well as a pair of sunglasses that the kid would probably, definitely, balk at the price tag of. Not that Tony himself hadn’t been known to dress a little like a teenage boy if left to his own devices sometimes as well. But today he looked like money enough to not be looked at twice at in the meticulous lobby of the luxury building on a quiet weekday morning.

“Just stick with me, kid.”

And so together they walked in and made their way to the elevator, bypassing the doorman without a glance. Peter was clearly a bit nervous and Tony rolled his eyes as he pressed the call button.

“Relax, Pete,” he said, leaning back to bump his shoulder against the kid’s.

“Right,” Peter said. “Alright,” he repeated standing up straighter and sticking his hands into his pockets, clearly trying to do some sort of imitation of casualness. Then he began to whistle.

It was the kind of meandering, indistinct melody that cartoon characters whistled while trying to act innocent. Except Peter didn’t appear to be very good at whistling, and the notes were airy and lisped sounding.

Tony inhaled slowly, not sure whether to laugh or slap the kid upside the head.

But before he had the chance to do either, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open and Tony grabbed Peter by the arm and dragged him in.

“You think you’re real funny, don't ya kid?”

“Funny? I don’t know what you’re talking about sir,” Peter smiled. “I’m glad for a nice old-fashioned elevator though, with all the buttons where they should be,” he said, reaching out to press the button for the highest floor. 

Tony decided not to dignify the kid with a response as they made the quick trip to the top floor. The kid leaned back against the wall and stared at Tony expectantly though, and even when he looked away, Tony could feel the kid’s eyes boring into him.

Soon enough though the elevator reached the highest floor and the doors slid open.

“After you,” Tony said, gesturing to the kid. Peter clicked his tongue and pulled a face as he passed Tony while exiting the elevator, and Tony just raised his eyebrows.

He followed the kid out of the elevator to realize that Peter was already making his way down the short hallway.

“Wait, hold up Pete, where are you rushing off to?”

“Access stairway to the roof,” Peter called over his shoulder. “I assume that’s your goal, not just to take an elevator ride to the top floor to look at a couple doors? Or were you just hoping to look out a window?”

Well a door to the stairs was, probably, his goal, but he’d expected the kid to keep up with that indecisive, stubborn, and just slightly helpless and doe-eyed bit he’d been at since the moment Tony met him. He expected to be the _cool, rule breaking_ _bad-boy_ and have the kid watch on in alternating mock and real awe and horror.

He hadn’t expected the kid to suddenly take off and leave Tony in the dust like he knew exactly what he was doing, apparently in spite of the slight limp he still walked with.

So, all Tony could do was hurry after him.

Half a moment later and the two of them arrived at a doorway labeled ‘STAIRS’.

“Huh,” Peter said, standing back and looking at the ‘alarm will sound’ label stuck to the door. “Do you want to take a chance? They’re almost never actually connected to an alarm.”

“What?” Tony asked.

“Come on Tony, you wanna play it fast and wild and loose or play it safe?” he asked shaking his body out and cracking his neck. Tony raised his eyebrows.

“I—” Tony began, feeling so very, very confused at the kids sudden shift in, well, everything from a nervous but petulant kid to a man on a mission.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he still felt more or less pretty much himself, he may have sworn that he’d been body swapped with the kid, and it was now in fact himself occupying the kid’s body.

And well, Tony suddenly found himself feeling like the kid had been acting for the past ten hours.

“Too slow,” Peter said with a smile as he pressed open the door.

Thankfully, it swung open without a sound besides a slight squeak of the hinges, and Tony let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Well are you coming?” he heard a voice call to him and he looked up to realize that Peter was already half way up the stairs.

“Coming,” Tony said, feeling a little lost as he ran up the stairs after the kid, taking them two at a time to catch up.

“Now this one is probably locked,” Peter said as they hit the top of the stairs to face another door. “So, what was your plan, Tony Stark? You have some kind of lock picking invention on you? Or can I do it the old-fashioned way? Or wait, a small explosive device that blows the lock and handle right off the door? That would be pretty cool.”

“Um,” Tony said, trying to figure out what the plan _had_ been. But yet again before he could even think about organizing his thoughts and getting them out of his mouth, the kid pulled some hair pins out of his pocket and was on his knees before the knob.

“Where did you get the bobby pins?” Tony asked.

“I found them in the bathroom this morning, so I took some. They’re handy to have. It’s a habit, I guess.”

“Why?”

Peter said nothing.

“Do you need to break into places often?”

Again, no response. Instead the kid stuck out his tongue a bit between his lips in concentration as he worked the pins in the lock.

“I honestly thought picking locks with bobby pins had to be a movie myth,” Tony joked.

“Depends on the lock, honestly, but this one is pretty basic. I have a kit too, but I didn’t bring it out last night,” Peter finally responded as the lock clicked and he turned the door handle.

“Why—I mean—?”

“Are you coming or not?” Peter asked as he held open the door, caught up in the wind that rushed around outside.

“Who are you, kid?” Tony asked as he reached out to hold open the door.

“I thought we’d established this earlier—I’m no one,” Peter shrugged before stepping out of the doorway and disappearing from sight.

Tony was suddenly having a hard time believing that, but there didn’t seem to be anything to say, so Tony just stepped out onto the roof, immediately searching to locate the man who he suddenly seemed to keep losing every time he paused so as much to think.

He found the kid in a pile of garbage less than twelve hours ago, and now the kid seemed to think himself Tom Cruise or something.

“Peter?” Tony called out loudly as he stepped out onto the roof, suddenly very aware just how strong the wind was. What had been a gentle breeze on the ground seemed to be a tornado suddenly up here. He walked around the corner from the doorway to find Peter already looking around the roof, calculatingly.

When he noticed Tony, he offered him a smile.

“There’s a ladder,” Peter said, maybe to Tony, maybe to know one, Tony wasn’t quite sure anymore. “That’s good.”

“Why?”

“I assume you want to go to the very top,” Peter said, pointing to the top of the little structure that the stairway led out of that stood a solid ten feet taller than the rest of the roof.

Tony looked out over the rooftop and for a moment almost considered protesting, saying that this was enough, that this kid was in no shape to be climbing ladders at the very least. But for some reason he didn’t say any of that.

“Oh, yeah, sure kid.”

“Alright, well, come on then,” Peter smiled at Tony before turning to climb up the ladder.

And so up Tony went, following Peter up to the top of the highest point on the roof.

As he crested the ledge, he looked across to see that Peter had already positioned himself right in the middle of the roof, standing with his arms stretched back behind him just a little bit as if he was going to fly. The wind whipped around him, the flurrying through his hair, and it was almost kind of a magical sight—kind of even beautiful.

Tony mourned for a moment no longer being twenty-one and beautiful as he pulled himself up over the side to meet Peter. But then Tony wasn’t sure if he was ever beautiful like this.

He went to stand beside the kid and watched as his lips moved as he said something, but Tony couldn’t hear him over the rush of the wind that had only gotten worse now that they were on top of the structure that had previously provided what little shelter from the wind they had had before.

“What?” he yelled.

“So,” Peter yelled back, leaning closer to Tony, “The view—is it everything you hoped?”

Tony then realized he hadn’t yet looked out at the view.

He also wasn’t really sure he cared anymore—or that he ever really had even the tiniest bit at all in the first place, despite the story he'd spun to the kid.

But Tony didn’t know how to tell Peter that, or if he even wanted to—or should—so instead he looked out across the city to where he could just see the sprawling green of central park creeping up at the edge of the horizon.

“It’s alright,” he shouted, keeping his eyes locked on the view. “Not as grand as I hoped it would be.”

Peter didn’t say anything in response, so instead Tony just stood there, looking out over the city, trying not to get blown away in the wind.

But really, when had it gotten so windy, anyway? It was apocalyptic. And Tony was there willingly, all to impress a kid who ended up making _his_ head spin.

“Tony!” he heard his name called out and felt a hand reach out to touch his shoulder and immediately he spun around to face Peter. “We should get down from here!” he yelled.

Tony looked at Peter’s hand and then back at him. Peter’s too earnest eyes had made a return and they were piercing through him as Peter watched him with a slightly concerned look on his face.

Tony nodded in response before quickly turning away from Peter to head back to the ladder, this time taking the lead as he made his way down, leaping from the ladder after on descending a few rungs, and quickly heading back inside. The rush of the wind finally disappeared as the door clicked shut behind Peter as he followed Tony in.

“Hey,” Peter asked. “Are you okay?”

Tony really, really wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t even sure why he wasn’t sure. He just—he wasn’t.

But somehow that brilliant mind of his came to the rescue, as he found himself replying, “I don’t think it’s your turn for a question.”

A smile spread across Peter’s lips that he was grateful for.

“I guess that’s fair.”

“Although I certainly tried to ask you a bunch that you ignored,” Tony found himself saying suddenly, his voice a little more accussatory than probably necessary.

Peter’s smile faltered.

“So that means I get to ask you a hard question, until you finally surrender and answer one, right?” Tony asked.

“Those are the rules, sir.”

Tony immediately knew what his question would be.

“Why do you keep calling me sir?” he asked. “You called me Tony a couple times just a few minutes ago. Why do you always go back to sir?”

Peter bit his lip and for a second Tony started trying to come up with another question, sure the kid would take a pass.

“I think it helps create a boundary. Or maintain one,” Peter said quietly. “Although sometimes I get caught up in the moment and forget, I guess.”

Tony’s brow knit, and he tried to imagine what that could possibly mean. But Tony for all his genius was good at formulas and data and theories. He wasn’t good at reading into vague statements. At least certainly not correctly.

“Why do we need a boundary?” he asked.

And again, for a second Tony thought Peter would call him out on follow ups, but he didn’t.

“Well, I don’t know if _you_ need a boundary, per se. But I worry _I_ might.”

Tony hadn’t the slightest idea what that could possibly mean. What kind of boundary could Peter possibly be trying to keep?

Maybe it had to do with his disdain for Tony—not wanting to be too familiar with someone he ideologically despised.

Actually, that made sense. Although if he hated Tony so much, he wasn’t sure why Peter hadn’t taken off a long time ago.

“Can I ask you a question?” Peter asked after a second.

Tony shrugged, “Sure, kid.”

Tony admittedly liked their game, even though he wasn’t sure what it was accomplishing in the grand scheme of things. But for now it kept things equal, which Tony liked, as someone who people tended to want a lot from.

“Why do you call me ‘kid’?” Peter asked almost immediately. “Even now that you know my name?”

That was… fair to ask, Tony supposed, considering he had virtually just asked the same questoin. But the thing was he wasn’t quite sure, in all honesty. It’s just what happened sometimes, it seemed.

“I guess that it’s like an endearment.”

“But it’s patronizing.”

“Well, when you call me ‘sir’ it’s like the opposite of patronizing,” Tony shrugged. “Wait, is there a word for that?” Tony asked suddenly. “Why isn’t there an antonym to ‘patronizing’?”

“Sir,” Peter said, pulling Tony back from his tangent. “Do you think of me as a kid?” he asked.

Tony’s brow knit tighter. But it didn’t even occur to him to call the follow up rule and pass.

“I don’t know,” he said, honestly. “You’re younger than me. You’re occasionally a bit maddening with your stubbornness, which is a trait I associate with children. If I only look at you quick, you do look perhaps a bit younger than you are.”

“So you don’t respect me?” Peter asked, although he said it more like a statement than a question.

“What?” Tony asked, genuinely surprised. “Where did you get that idea?" he asked and Peter shrugged. "Listen, Pete, I’ve spent more time with you willingly and for non-work-related purposes than I’ve spend with anyone in a really long time,” he said. “And I don’t know if you can guess this about me, but I don’t particularly love kids. They tend to like me, Pepper says it’s because I never grew up, and I try not to traumatize them too deeply, but I’ve never willingly spent any amount of time with a child.”

“Oh,” Peter said.

“So I don’t think you’re actually a kid, if anything I think you’re—” Tony faltered. The word that came to mind was ‘cute’ but that so profoundly did not feel like the right word to say out loud to Peter or well probably any human being, nor like a word that Tony Stark would even know how to form and utter aloud non-ironically directly to someone. “You’re pretty damn brilliant,” he finished instead.

“Oh,” Peter said again. “Okay,” he added this time, seeming to relax a little bit.  

“Count yourself lucky, kid, most of my pet names for people aren’t particularly nice. If you _only_ think ‘kid’ is patronizing, then, well, I don’t know what then, but it must mean I respect you an awfully lot, at the very least,” Tony joked.

Peter though looked thoughtful at this.

“So it’s like a boundary for you too, sir,” Peter said with a distracted look in his eyes and this time definitely more as a statement than a question. Tony wasn't even all that sure the kid was speaking to him at all, anymore.

But while Tony still had no idea what Peter meant, it didn’t feel right to disagree with him.

“I guess it is, kid,” he said. “I guess it is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is what I believe we might call the start of something. Well, if you're being generous.
> 
> Let me know what you think because I love comments and am quickly running out of motivation/unsure what I'm doing.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you, some kind of neighborhood vigilante? Never an old woman’s sock shall get left behind when Stubborn Kid is near?”
> 
> Peter scrunched up his mouth, “Something like that,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! Sorry it's been a week, but good news is I'm now employed for three more months and am also making twice as much as I was before! Hurrah.

The elevator was quiet on the way back down.

“So, how are you doing kid?” Tony found himself asking to fill the silence.

“I’m fine,” Peter replied.

“Okay, right,” Tony said not at all convinced, and the elevator doors slid open. “You first,” he gestured, and Peter offered a polite smile as he stepped out before him and Tony fought the urge to sigh.  

He followed Peter out of the lobby and onto the sidewalk, his mind feeling a little numb. It was probably just exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in… the memory and the math seemed to be escape him. Yup, he was definitely exhausted.

But the thing was he couldn’t remember exhaustion ever feeling quite like this, and he had a habit of going for days and days with little more than a few power naps and a couple two hours of sleep nights.

But just when Tony thought he couldn’t feel any more like the walking dead, all of the sudden Peter was running ahead of him down the sidewalk and calling out after someone, bending down to retrieve something from the sidewalk on his way.

And Tony just stopped and closed his eyes, slowly pulling in a breath and rubbing his temples. Then a moment later and only a moment later he opened them and looked back up at Peter who was now a solid several yards ahead of him.

“Ma’am, you dropped this!” Peter called, catching up to an older woman and holding out what looked to be a…sock?

The woman turned around to face Peter and took the sock, looking grateful. Tony couldn’t hear what she was saying as he approached them, but before he knew it the woman reached into the tote bag she was carrying with her and pulled out a knit scarf and wrapped it around Peter’s neck.

“Thank you, ma’am, but really I’m fine. It’s April!” Tony heard Peter say as he finally caught back up with him.

“Oh, hush, it’s a bit windy today, isn’t it? And you don’t have a coat!” the woman admonished.

“I, er, forgot.”

“And you’re lucky we ran into each other now, aren’t you? Not every chilly day are you going to rescue a fallen sock for a little old lady on the way back from her knitting group,” she scolded Peter. And then, suddenly, she turned to Tony. “And now you sir, are you responsible for this young man?”

Tony’s eye’s widened and maybe it was just the exhaustion, hopefully it was just the exhaustion, but he felt uncharacteristically caught off guard—and all he could do was stare at the old woman and stammer, rubbing at the back of his neck

“Yeah, I, uh, guess I am,” Tony found himself saying. “Ma’am,” he added.

“And you let him walk around without a coat! Look at this nice one you’ve got there, you didn’t think to offer it to him?”

“I—no?”

“I didn’t survive this long to live in a world where a man can’t see another man in need and give him his coat!”

“I—what?” Tony began, feeling so, so tired. And confused. About how on earth he ended up in this situation. About since when Tony was supposed to go around offering his coat to anyone who needed it, even if maybe he needed it himself.

Maybe it was a side effect of Peter, I occured it him. Probably a side effect of Peter. Maybe the kid just resided in an alternate universe where things were just like they were in Tony’s universe except for stranger. And full of technicolor hand scarves and the temperamental old ladies who made them.

However, in a brilliant decision on his steamrolled brains part, Tony quickly sunk into defeat. “Alright,” he said, taking off his coat. “Come on Pete,” he said, holding it out for him.

“Oh, no, Mr. Stark, sir, that’s really not necessary.”

“Don’t be rude, boy! What do you say?” the woman scolded again, and Tony was just glad to not be the subject of it anymore.

“Thank you,” Peter muttered and ducked his head in modest shame and raised his arms so that Tony could help him into the jacket, but as he did he immediately recoiled with a hiss and a grimace.

“Peter?” Tony asked immediately.

“It’s fine,” Peter said far too quickly, standing incredibly still with his arms coiled around himself.

“It is certainly not fine,” Tony said immediately, suddenly becoming aware of how much he sounded like the old woman had a moment ago and recoiling a bit at the realization. “I’ll go back to the main street and get a cab, we’re getting you to the doctor right now.”

“Sir,” Peter said, but Tony wasn’t having it.

“I’ll wait here with him,” the woman said.

Tony nodded. Then he looked down to the jacket he was still holding in his hands. He quickly draped it over Peter’s shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before taking off down the side street back to the larger street that ran perpendicular.

It only took a few minutes before he’d hailed a cab and gotten it to drive around the corner to where Peter was still standing in exactly the same hunched position, the old woman beside him, clearly talking to him gently as she rubbed his arm.

Tony got out of the cab, opening the door before it even came to a full stop.

“Hey, chill out man!” the driver shouted.

“Can you move?” he asked Peter as he strode quickly onto the sidewalk.

“What about your car?” Peter said, being so profoundly unhelpful and Tony shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“I’ll send Happy or someone to pick it up later.”

“Is that one of your robots?”

Tony closed his eyes and drew in a breath that he could only hope would grant him patience.

“No, he’s the head of my security, kid. Now can you get into the car or not?”

“The meter’s running!” the driver shouted. “I’m not an ambulance.”

Tony scrunched his eyes shut in frustration and then spun around, taking out his wallet and throwing what must have been a few hundred dollars at the driver through the front passenger window.

“I’ll triple it if you shut up.”

The driver said nothing, and Tony turned back to Peter.

“Pete,” he said, his voice pleading. God was he just so tired and _Peter_. Fucking Peter. “Come on, just a few steps,” he encouraged, putting his arm around the younger man.

Peter nodded and took the smallest of steps forward and then took another, continuing as he inched towards the cab.

They finally reached the edge of the curb and Peter took a staggering step off, and for a second Tony thought the kid had snapped in half, the way his body jerked and the way he yelped. Tony instinctively gripped onto him, holding him upright tightly around the waist.

“Just into the car now, come on Pete.”

Peter grimaced but quickly ducked down into the car and perched himself awkwardly on the seat, just barely pulling in his feet enough that Tony could shut the door behind him.

“Thank you,” Tony turned to the woman and said, although he wasn’t entirely sure what for specifically.

The woman grabbed Tony’s hands.

“You take care of him,” she said.

Tony just nodded and smiled before rushing around the car to get in on the opposite side.

Once Tony shut the door behind himself, the cab pulled away from the curb and took off towards the location Tony had already given the driver.

For a few minutes the ride was silent, Peter sitting daintily on the edge of his seat, Tony collapse back into his like there was a sack of bricks in his lap.

Then after watching the kid for several full minutes, Tony processed the image of Peter wrapped in a rainbow hand knit scarf in the middle of April with the juxtaposition of a custom leather jacket blanketing his shoulders and Tony couldn’t help but smile and shake his head.

“What are you, some kind of neighborhood vigilante? Never an old woman’s sock shall get left behind when Stubborn Kid is near?”

Peter scrunched up his face. “Something like that,” he muttered.

“So, are you going to actually give me an idea of how badly you’re hurt, or am I just going to have to assume you’re actually dying and just couldn’t care to tell anyone any sooner?”

“I really was feeling better, I swear. I just must have… aggravated something,” Peter sighed.

Tony copied the sigh and let his smile falter as something that must have been guilt washed over him.

“It’s probably a bit my fault. I shouldn’t have dragged you out with me. You should have stayed resting until we got clearance from a doctor.”

“No!” Peter said quickly. “It’s okay, I’m glad we did this.”

“You are?” Tony asked, looking at the kid and searching his face for the usual painful earnestness. He found it right where it always was.

“Yeah,” the kid smiled, and Tony’s chest did some kind of thing that couldn’t have been natural. Maybe he’d have the doctor run an echocardiogram when he was there.

They fell into silence and rode along. The hospital Tony’s physician worked out of was a solid half an hour drive in traffic from where they had been, so Tony resigned himself to settling into the silence and trying to keep himself awake.

“Tony?” Peter asked a few minutes later. Tony found himself instinctively smiling at the use of his name.

“Yeah Peter?” he returned.

“Thank you,” he said. “I can’t remember if I’ve thanked you. For taking care of me.”

Tony’s smile fell a bit for a reason he couldn’t determine.

“It’s no problem. I really don’t mind.”

“But why?” Peter asked suddenly. “I mean—it’s okay if you mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why don’t you mind? You keep telling me you don’t like people, and well, your public image has always reflected that. Why—well—” Peter was looking down at his lap now, gripping into the edge of the car seat tightly like he was holding on for dear life.

“Why you?” Tony supplied.

“Yeah.”

For a long moment Tony didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He didn’t know why. And he didn’t know why Peter was pushing whatever this was, particularly following up after the strange conversation they’d just had in the roof stairwell.

“What, do you want me to say, that I actually apparently _like_ you or something?” Tony asked as a bit of a joke, but Peter pursed his lips.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I do,” he shrugged.

“Why?” To y asked this time.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you care if I like you?”

Silence fell at the question and Tony began to be more and more sure as seconds past that Peter wasn’t going to answer.

“Because I like you,” Peter’s voice came softly. “And it would be cool if you liked me—or well, yeah, no, there isn’t a less stupid sounding way of describing that emotional attachment—too.”

Tony’s brow furrowed.

“But you don’t like me,” he insisted.

“What?”

“You think I’m a gross ethically bankrupt, corrupt billionaire.”

“I mean, billionaires are problematic, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like you anyway,” Peter shrugged. “People like people they shouldn’t all the time. It’s what they do. You’re—you’re brilliant Tony. I know you know that.”

“What?” Tony couldn’t even begin to process. Peter said it all so simply, like it was nothing. Like something like that was easy to say. But it didn’t feel like nothing or easy to Tony.

Then Peter took the hand that had been gripping the edge of the car seat till his knuckles were white and placed a hand on Tony’s knee, and Tony just stared at the hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter said, giving Tony’s knee a brief squeeze before pulling back. “Don’t short circuit your brain over it. I don’t mean anything by it,” Peter smiled sympathetically. “I’d hate to go down as the guy who broke the great Tony Stark.”

Tony furrowed his eyebrows.

“It might be too late for that, Pete.”

And Tony watched as Peter’s eyes widened and he was left to wonder whether or not he’d meant that as a joke as they fell back into silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Story: Once I threw my back out (because even though I'm not middle aged apparently I'm middle aged) while alone and out in very much a part of the city I do not live in, and I was stuck barely able to move, like Peter, yet entirely responsible for figuring out how to get myself home- I unfortunately did not have Tony Stark and a kind old woman to help me. I did however have a security guard who got me ice and a chair to sit in until I could manage to move enough to go get in an Uber, which I would then pay $35 to get me home. Things no one prepares you for about adulthood: being very unwell and having absolutely no one to take care of you.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He became delirious. He’d fixate on things. Like quantum mechanics. Or alternative energies. Or robot super soldiers. Or apparently pleasing a twenty-one-year-old via the perfect lunch order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter as an apology for not updating for so long.

They arrived at the hospital and got Peter up to his physician’s office as quickly as possible. Of course, getting the kid into the wheel chair that Tony had requested be brought out to him turned into an argument, but then again, Tony was sure he shouldn’t have expected any different.

“I just—you can let me wheel myself at least,” Peter complained as Tony pushed him towards the elevator.

“Pete, you can barely move, just relax my friend, and I’ll see if we can get the good doctor to prescribe you some of the strong stuff.”

“I’m sure just a few more Tylenol will be fine,” Peter protested. “I actually probably just need another dose, anyway. It’s been four or five hours since I last took some. That’s probably why the pain is so bad right now,” Peter said, his tone so sure of himself that Tony almost wondered if the kid actually believed what he was saying.

“Pete, you’re a little past Tylenol, even the extra strength variety, doing you much good,” Tony said as he pushed them into the elevator and hit the button for the floor his doctor’s office was on.

“Well why couldn’t Bruce prescribe me something then?” Peter continued to protest.

“X-ray’s, Pete, remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

Tony sighed and pushed Peter out of the elevator after it arrived at their floor and then set off down the hall.

“Ah, Mr. Stark!” a nurse greeted as Tony approached the desk of the reception area. “We’re all ready for him!”

“Great,” Tony responded. “This is Peter. I had a doctor friend check him out yesterday, but we’re worried about his ribs. He also might have a minor concussion.”

“Hello Peter,” the nurse smiled at the kid. “Dr. Jacobson will be ready to see you soon, but in the meantime, I’m going to get started on some basic tests,” the nurse explained before turning back to Tony. “I’m going to take him back to a room, would you like to come? Or you’re welcome to wait out here or go and run and get some coffee. We’ll probably be about an hour, and you can’t come with us for x-ray’s anyway.”

Tony looked at the kid.

“Oh, you don’t have to come back with me, Mr. Stark, it’s fine. Go get some coffee or something.”

Tony wanted to argue a little bit, but he didn’t. Peter was an adult after all. Tony was barely his friend, and the kid probably needed some privacy if he was going to have any chance of getting proper treatment. But then again, maybe without Tony there to call him on his bullshit, the kid would evade questions.

But Dr. Jacobson was Tony’s doctor after all. He was an expert at dealing with bullshit.

Tony regularly told the man things like that he regularly got eight hours of sleep and ate three meals a day and only had 1-2 drinks a week at most and always, always used a condom.

So, Tony just smiled and shrugged.

“I want a full report of what’s wrong with you when you get out,” he said instead.

“Sure, Mr. Stark,” the kid said with a tight smile as the nurse wheeled him away and through a set of doors that swung closed a bit too dramatically behind them.

And Tony was left standing alone.

He sighed and collapsed down into a waiting room chair and pulled out his phone.

Before he could even think about it, he pulled open a browser and typed “Peter Queens College Physics” into the search bar, his thumb hovering over the “Go” button. Nothing relevant would probably come up, anyway. There are probably a lot of Peter’s related to the Physics department at Queens College. It was a first and a last name after all.

But then, if he really wanted to know something, he could also ask Jarvis to pull an image of his face from the security cameras and run a search. Maybe hack into a few government agencies, pull a last name off a government ID and…

He was being crazy. Tony quickly exited out of the tab and pocketed his phone.

Coffee. He could go get coffee. And maybe something for Peter. But Peter didn’t drink coffee. He had orange juice this morning. Did he want more or was that more of a once a day thing? Maybe just some water? He had to be dehydrated. There was a Starbucks across the street. Maybe an iced tea or one of their refresher things. They sold those pink things, right? With coconut milk or whatever. Would Peter want one of those? He couldn’t imagine Peter buying anything that someone got for the sake of being able to post a picture of it on the internet, but hell, the kid was full of surprises.

But then maybe he shouldn’t focus on just a drink. It would be approaching lunch by the time Peter got out, maybe he should pick them up sandwiches. Did Peter like sandwiches? Wait! He said he liked sandwiches earlier that morning. But “good” sandwiches. What constituted a “good” sandwich? Ham? Turkey? Mustard? Mayo? Pickles? Cheese? What kind of cheese? What if he didn’t even eat meat! What if he was lactose intolerant!

Fuck.

Tony sighed and took a breath, clearing his mind. It was no good letting himself spin out like this, particularly over something that should have been as irrelevant as Peter’s dietary preferences. But this happened sometime when he was exhausted. He became delirious. He’d fixate on things. Like quantum mechanics. Or alternative energies. Or robot super soldiers. Or apparently pleasing a twenty-one-year-old via the perfect lunch order.

With a calming breath and a shake of his head, Tony stood up and then, like a man on a mission made his way down to the hospital cafeteria. But then when the hospitals cafeteria coffee smelled like sad, bitter death, Tony immediately marched himself across the street to a Starbucks to wait in a line that should not have possibly been so long at ten o’clock on a weekday morning.

Much too long and a far too complicated drink order later, Tony exited the Starbucks and made his way back across the street. Drinks in hand, he made his way back up to the doctor’s office and sat back down in the reception area to wait.

And wait. And wait.

He pulled out his phone and checked the notifications and cleared them all. Then he checked the news to find the world wasn’t descending into chaos any more quickly or dramatically than had become the standard. And then he pulled back up his phones browser and typed in all the information he knew about the kid again. Then he quickly switched to twitter. Then he read an article that was really just a compilation of cat gifs.

Then he pulled open the search again and pressed “Go.”

Just then, the doors swung open and out Dr. Jacobson came, pushing Peter ahead of him in the wheel chair and Tony immediately clicked off his phone’s screen and put the phone back in his pocket.

“Okay, Tony, we’re all finished here!” the doctor announced.

“How is he?” Tony asked, immediately standing up and approaching Peter.

“I’m fine,” Peter answered. “Just a cracked rib. I’ve got some meds and I’m just supposed to take it easy,” Peter mumbled, holding up a pill bottle for Tony to see.

“I took the liberty of filling the prescription at our pharmacy on-site to save you the trip. He’s already taken his first dose, he can have another two pills every six hours,” the doctor explained. Then he turned to look down at Peter. “If you’re still in pain after this bottle runs out, just give my office a call and we’ll get you a refill, okay?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, doctor,” Peter said, looking a little resigned and frankly exhausted, but offering a polite smile none the less.

“Okay then, I’ll leave him to you, Tony,” Dr. Jacobson said. “And please, Peter, do make sure to take it easy?”

Peter said nothing, and Tony just smiled and waved as the doctor turned and went back behind the swinging doors.

Tony looked at Peter and smiled.

“How you doing, kid?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said unhelpfully.

“I brought you something,” Tony remembered, handing Peter the second Starbucks cup and taking another sip of his coffee.

“What is it?” Peter asked, raising the spout of the lid to his mouth and sniffing at it.

“Hot chocolate,” Tony replied.

“But it’s April.”

“Live a little, Pete.”

Peter took a sip.

“What kind of hot chocolate is this?” he asked immediately, inspecting the cup carefully.

“Oh, I had it made with soy milk, in case you’re lactose intolerant.”

“Oh,” Peter said, of course not confirming or denying anything, because that would be _helpful_. “What if I didn’t eat soy products?”

“What?” Tony asked.

“Some people don’t eat soy. Have allergies or otherwise object to it.”

“Isn’t tofu like the most neutral food there is? And now your telling me that people object to it for reasons other than it’s, you know, tofu?”

“Well, you know, GMO’s, Monsanto, a highly dubious fear of minute traces of estrogen, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Do you know everything, kid?” Tony shook his head and sighed.

“No,” Peter said simply, and perhaps a bit sadly in a way that resonated with Tony and his ever still limited genius. “Not even close.”

Tony sighed again and let the topic drop.

“So, you ready to go?” he said instead.

Peter shrugged, but thankfully didn’t protest or do anything besides take a sip of his hot chocolate and let Tony push his chair back to the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a particularly earth shattering chapter by any means, but a thing that had to happen so we can get into the next few chapters, which will be a little bit more exciting.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Actually, I think having a sense of a person’s character means you know them very well, even if you don’t know everything about their life story.”
> 
> “But there are formative things, aren’t there? That you have to know to really understand a person.”

“Wait, we’re back at your tower,” Peter said as the car that Tony had called to pick them up from the hospital pulled up in front of his building.

“Yup, were you expecting to go somewhere else?” Tony responded.

“I—no, I guess not,” Peter replied, and Tony could tell he was trying to track back through the pattern of his own thoughts and find where some kind of misstep had occurred in the process.

The medication that Dr. Jacobson had prescribed seemed to be kicking in fast, and Tony could only watch as Peter seemed to lose his mind just a bit succumbing to it, likely compounded with an adrenaline crash post-pain and just overall exhaustion.

“Are you alright, Pete?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, I’m… we’re going upstairs?”

“Yeah, up to my apartment,” Tony nodded.

“Oh. Cool. That’s cool. Your apartment is nice.”

“Yeah, it is kid,” Tony said before getting out of the car and walking around to open the door for Peter.

“You think you can walk?” Tony asked.

“Huh?” Peter asked, seeming a bit distracted. “Oh, yeah, I can… I feel great.”

“I’m sure you do, Pete,” Tony said, shaking his head and leaning down to help Peter out of the car and give him a shoulder to lean on. Peter was already walking a bit better, or well at all again, which was a good sign the medication was definitely taking effect.

They made their way to the elevators, Peter thankfully saying nothing about the buttons, and in fact nothing at all as they stepped in and made their way to the top.

The elevator made its way up to the penthouse and then the doors slid open and Tony helped Peter out. Peter seemed to have developed his own plan though in the interim of silence and immediately made his way into the living room, dragging Tony with him as he limped along.

“Tony… I feel a little funny, I think,” Peter announced, collapsing down onto the couch with a groan.

“Well that’s one of the perks of being a rich person, the doc’s always glad to prescribe you the strong stuff.”

“Oh. Glad the opioid epidemic doesn’t discriminate based on class,” Peter murmured, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

Tony snorted and sat down on the couch beside him.

“So, do you want to watch some TV or something?”

Peter hummed, his eyes still closed.

“Do you have any preferences?” Tony asked. “You name it kid, Jarvis will find it and pull it up.”

“Oh, does the Great Tony Stark illegally stream movies like the rest of us?” Peter asked, a dopey smile warping his face.

“Nearly everything you could want is available on iTunes or Amazon, Peter.”

“Mm, and you risk some other billionaire getting some of your money? Nuh-uh. Not a dime of the Great Tony Stark's money is worthy of them.”

“What’s with this ‘Great Tony Stark’ business?”

“You don’t… don’t you think you’re great?” Peter replied, and Tony could think of nothing to possibly say in response to that.

“If you don’t give me some options kid, I’m putting on _Say Yes to the Dress_ or _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ ,” he said instead.

“Oh, fragile masculinity and a side of homophobia, mm Tony? Very funny,” Peter murmured. “Did you invent a time machine, send us back to the early-2000’s?”

Tony opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“That’s not what I meant,” he finally decided on saying.

“Oh, I’ve seen the rumors in the magazines, I’m sure it’s not what you meant. But it’s what you said.”

“You’re high as a kite and you’re still calling me out on bad jokes?”

“Tasteless jokes. And I’m not… high,” Peter said, his words slow. “I’m just… a little numb. I’ve been high before, this isn’t like that.”

“Marijuana highs and Vicodin highs are a little different, kid,” Tony explained.

“How do you know I’m not like, snorting coke or, mm, popping pills in my free time?”

“Because I know you, Pete. You’ve what, smoked a little pot with some friends a couple times, right?”

“You don’t know me,” Peter said in response.

“I don’t?”

“Nope. Not really. Not at all.”

“So, you _are_ actually addicted to morphine and not hanging out in some friend’s bedroom with a joint and a bag of Doritos?”

“Just because you can guess _one_ thing right doesn’t mean you know a person,” Peter said, his voice taking on a kind of breathy almost sing-song-y pattern and Tony considered just asking the kid to shut up or taking him to bed and locking him in there to save the kid any embarrassment. But a larger part of Tony wanted to know how far the kid would take this.

Tony had always been a curiosity-killed-the-cat kind of person.

“Actually, I think having a sense of a person’s character means you know them very well, even if you don’t know everything about their life story.”

“But there are formative things, aren’t there? That you have to know to really understand a person.”

“I guess,” Tony conceded. “What are your opinions on the Food Network?” Tony asked, shifting back to the task at hand as he reached to grab the remote off the coffee table.

“Food Network, mm? Anything but Cutthroat Kitchen. It’s too distressing.”

“What do you mean it’s distressing, it’s hilarious!”

“Of course you’d think that.”

“You have no idea what I would and wouldn’t think,” Tony defended, perhaps a little immaturely as he mimicked Peter’s earlier defense.

“I know you pretty well,” Peter said, sounding pretty sure of himself.

“Oh, you do?”

“Yeah, I’ve read your Wikipedia page. A couple times.”

“Have you?”

“Yeah. And I know that your parents died in a car crash and that you graduated from M.I.T. super young.”

“Oh?”

“And that we’re a little the same. Except I’m not rich, obviously.”

That surprised Tony a little bit. In all honesty he thought the kid would be keeping lists of their differences, not trying to see himself in Tony.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’re both orphans, I told you that already. But my parents died in a plane crash. When I was four. So younger than you were. I barely remember them. You get to remember your parents. Get to hate them and love them and all that.”

Well that was… news.

“Peter,” Tony said softly.

“See, that’s a formative thing you didn’t know about me. And it’s just one of many. Inevitably.”

Tony didn’t quite know what to say to that, so instead he helplessly flipped on the television to find it set to the Discovery channel, and some guys were yelling while driving around in some kind of speed boat.

The background noise, however, didn’t seem to deter Peter.

“And I know about all your relationships. Or at least the ones that lasted long enough for anyone to care. But I know you’ve had others. So many others. I know the blind items.”

Tony froze a bit. For a man of Tony’s wealth and power, for all the top-secret things he did, all the things he’d had covered up over the course of his career, there only ever seemed to be one thing that anyone ever considered a kind of open secret in regards to him.

And honestly, Tony didn’t mind it. He didn’t mind people knowing but no one talking about it seriously, only ever occasionally hinting at it on gossip blogs and in the trashiest magazines no one took too seriously. He did on the other hand mind a high twenty-one-year-old interrogating him in his living room about it.

“How would you know if they’re blind?” Tony asked, slowly, suddenly hoping to somehow wind the topic of conversation back away from this and elsewhere.

Unfortunately, Peter didn’t seem to be in the mood to pull any punches.

“So are you saying you don’t like men?” he said so incredibly bluntly that Tony did in fact, idioms aside, feel like he’d been punched in the gut.

“What?”

“Why are you ashamed?” Peter asked softly, and Tony looked at him, just looked at him.

That’s when he realized that he was still wearing both the knit scarf and Tony’s leather jacket, even though they were inside and it had turned into a warm spring day.

But suddenly he realized that Peter wasn’t in fact interrogating him at all. His brow was knit, his head cocked a bit, and he wasn’t even looking at Tony. If anything, it seemed like Peter was thinking out loud. Like he’d forgotten Tony was there at all.

“Peter, maybe you should get some rest.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Peter said suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not ashamed,” Peter said, finally turning to look at Tony again.

“You…”

“Yes.”

Well that was… also news.

“I’m not ashamed, Peter,” Tony admitted carefully. “It’s just no one’s business.”

And that was the truth. He wasn’t ashamed. It just… he’d never really dated men like he did women. One night stands he was very equal opportunity about. But the fact was Tony could hardly stomach relationships at all, barely with women, certainly not with men. And it was in all honesty such an open secret that no one had ever really even asked him about it and he was so aloof in his public persona he doubted anyone thought he'd be bothered by enough by those kinds of rumors to want to set the record straight.

He'd never had to lie.

“That’s bullshit.”

“What?”

“I—my head feels too,” Peter raised a hand to gesture to the middle distance, “Over there to explain to you right now why it is, but it is. I’m right.”

“Okay, Pete. Sure,” Tony said, relieved that Peter was fading. “Why don’t we just relax and then maybe when you’re feeling better you can try to explain it to me?”

“Scooch over,” was all Peter said in response.

“What?” Tony asked.

“Scooch over,” Peter repeated, this time shoving a bit at Tony, trying to push him down the couch. Tony reluctantly slid down a couple of cushions. Then, once Tony was out of the way, Peter lay down, rolling over onto his back and kicking his feet up so they rested on the arm of the couch. His torso now took up the space that Tony had previously been sitting and the top of his head brushed against Tony’s thigh.

“Get some rest, Pete,” Tony said, unthinkingly picking a hand up and placing it atop Peter’s head, running his fingers through the other mans hair for a few moments before returning the hand to his lap.

“Mm,” was all Peter said and Tony turned back to the television. The guys who had previously been screaming on the boat were now screaming in a swamp.

“Tony?” Peter whispered a few minutes later. Tony turned to see Peter looking up at him, eyes open but severely drooping.

“Yeah Peter?”

“You want to know one more formative thing?”

Tony wasn’t sure he did, but he nodded anyway.

“Ask me, like as your question.”

Oh right, the game.

“Alright. Can you tell me one more formative thing about you?”

Peter nodded and closed his eyes.

“My uncle was murdered a few years ago. I saw it happen.”

Tony swore his heart stopped.

“Oh, Peter,” he murmured. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

Tony wasn’t good at grief. He wasn’t good at his own and he wasn’t good at other people’s.

This though for some reason suddenly felt like both. Peter though just let out a soft hum.

“This show is a little stupid, don’t you think?” Peter said. “Maybe find a movie or something? Something light?”

“Okay, Pete, sure,” Tony said. “You hear that Jarvis?”

“Sure thing, sir,” the A.I. said gently, and the television flipped to another channel, a rom-com that Tony couldn’t remember the name of but seemed familiar began to play on the screen. “Could I recommend that you get some rest as well sir?” the A.I. continued unsolicited.

Tony considered arguing, but Peter had gone still beside him, and he didn’t want to risk waking him in case he’d fallen asleep. He was also too exhausted to, in all honesty. He was so incredibly tired.

On the screen, a woman threw her shoe at a man and Tony closed his eyes and let his body slump and fall into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today without any kind of notice became a very hard day emotionally, which meant lots of writing to distract myself, which means a third update in a little more than 24 hours. I think this chapter is a good one though, in regard to _things happening_ so I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think, reading comments is also a great distraction from you know, just literally crying for hours.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter shook his head, and Tony recognized the look. It was a look he’d seen many a friend and lover make when they realize what exactly they’ve gotten themselves into by associating with Tony Stark.
> 
> But Tony had never been gladder for the smile that still accompanied it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the positive energy, everyone <3 Have a chapter!

“Shit! Tony, what time is it?”

Tony felt warm, but his body a bit stiff as he began to come back to himself.

“Tony!” A hand was on his shoulder shaking him and a frantic voice continued calling to him.

“Pete?” Tony asked, opening his eyes and sitting up straight. The first thing he noticed was that it was now dark outside, the apartment gently lit mostly by the city lights outside pouring in though the floor to ceiling windows and a few ambient lights from around his apartment. The next thing he noticed was Peter—still in the ridiculous scarf and Tony’s jacket, hair mussed from sleep—standing over him, looking rather upset. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Peter repeated as he paced back and forth across the living room. Tony was glad to know he was feeling better again. Or at least that he had enough adrenaline coursing through him to have forgotten his fractured ribs.

“Jarvis, what time is it?” he asked on Peter’s behalf.

“It’s 8:32 PM, sir.”

“Shit!” Peter proclaimed yet again, running his fingers through his hair. “I missed my class! And May, shit, I’m supposed to be home for dinner!”

“What?”

“I had my lab this afternoon and I missed it! I figured it would be fine, that appointment with the doctor was at 10:00, and I'd be back in Queens by early afternoon, make my 3 o'clock lab no problem," Peter rambled. "But now I missed it and we only have two more labs before finals! And they won’t let me do a make up unless I’m sick or someone died, or something, so there goes my grade!”

“Pete, you _are_ sick. I’ll get Dr. Jacobson to write you a note. Relax.”

That didn’t seem to placate Peter at all, and he continued to pace.

“But May! I told her I’d be home for dinner tonight! I bet she’s worried sick! And I left my bag and my phone at the Rite Aid last night. I bet she’s called me a dozen times. Shit!”

“Now might be a great time for some variety, Pete. Have you considered a good old ‘fuck’?” Tony joked.

Peter turned on his heel and was suddenly glaring at Tony with frustration.

“Oh, fuck you!” he snapped, but there was just enough of an edge of humor that allowed Tony to roll his eyes at the obviously not malicious theatrics.

“You can borrow my phone, give her a call Peter, relax. It’s fine.”

Peter finally seemed to relax a bit at that, but only just a bit.

“But,” he said with a sigh. “My aunt May’s just a little protective of me, you know? We’re all each other has left. I can’t do things like this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know—this! I can’t do this.”

“We haven’t done anything, Peter, besides get you through a small medical emergency. Relax. Call May and tell her that you’re safe.”

“But I—I have to go,” Peter said suddenly.

“Pete, it’s late. You can stay another night. Go home in the morning.”

“No—I have to—” Peter protested, but Tony cut him off.

“Please stay.”

Peter spun around from the direction he’d been pacing in to face Tony.

“What?” he asked.

“You can stay. I really wouldn’t mind.”

“Why?” Peter asked, looking wide-eyed and skeptical.

“I don’t—” Tony faltered, not sure why, in all honesty. “Even if you left right now you probably wouldn’t get back until 10:00 anyway. You might as well just stay,” he said instead.

And for a long second there was silence, and Tony was sure, entirely sure that Peter was going to say no. That he was going to insist on leaving. It felt like the way it should go, must go. Peter had to leave eventually. It was not actually that late. Tony had literally no reason to keep him. Peter didn’t— shouldn’t— have any reason to want to stay.

But then, for some reason, Peter sighed and sat back down on the couch beside Tony.

“Just let me call May and tell her,” he said.

Tony gave Peter a small smile and fished his phone out of his pocket and held it to him, unlocking it and opening up the keypad before handing it over.

Peter took the phone and stood up, walking across the room over to the windows.

Tony regretted a little that his apartment was so big in that moment, and the distance was too much to carry Peter’s whispered conversation. He looked good though, Tony realized, silhouetted in the dark window in the glow of the city lights—the way Tony’s jacket hung on his slightly lither (damn twenty-one-year-old bodies) frame and he ran his hands through his hair every so often as he spoke hushed reassurances.

Now he was fiddling with the scarf—that ridiculous rainbow scarf. Tony kind of hoped that Peter would keep it forever, wear it every winter for the rest of his life. Peter seemed like the kind of person that might do that, make use of a perfectly functional scarf that someone took the time to make. And Tony kind of loved that about Peter, just a little bit.

But then Peter also seemed like the kind of person who would lose every possession that wasn’t sewn into his skin. Apparently, his bag was just at the Rite Aid somewhere, abandoned.

Maybe he should send someone to go retrieve it.

“Is everything okay?” Tony asked as he noticed Peter making his way back over to the couch looking a little less than jazzed.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he sighed. “I’m over-18 now so she can’t ground me anymore… just make me feel really guilty for being a terrible and irresponsible adult,” Peter shrugged, handing his phone back to Tony and sitting back down on the couch beside him.

“Hey, I was thinking, and I remembered that you said your bag and your phone were left at the pharmacy. Can I send someone to go look for them? Make sure they aren’t stolen or something?”

Peter’s eyes widened a bit.

“Oh no! That really won’t be necessary. They’re safe. I’ll go get them myself before my class tomorrow afternoon. Don’t worry about it.”

Tony furrowed his brow a bit but just shrugged.

“Okay, well do you want to go back down to the lab with me? I have a project I think you could help me with.”

“Oh!” Peter gasped. “Well I’m not sure I’ll be any help with anything, but sure,” he smiled.

“Great,” Tony said, putting a hand on Peter’s knee and giving it a squeeze. “Oh wait, your pills. You should definitely take another dose. How is the pain?”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Um, I think I’m alright.”

“Peter,” Tony said warningly.

“They were too much,” Peter admitted. “I think I’ll be fine with some Tylenol.”

“But how’s the pain, Pete?”

“It’s manageable,” Peter said with a tight smile.

“How about you take half a dose then?” Tony bartered.

Peter hummed, looking skeptical.

“Maybe a quarter.”

“Said something you regret last night, then?” Tony laughed at Peter’s stubbornness.

“No,” Peter said quickly, blushing a bit. “I just—”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of joke. A dancing monkey or something. You know, how people sometimes used to take child stars to Hollywood parties and get them high or drunk or something just to see what would happen. For a laugh.”

“I really don’t think you’re a dancing monkey, Peter,” Tony said earnestly. “Now why don’t you give me some fun fact about how the use of the phrase dancing monkey is reflective of a long history of animal cruelty and possibly racism or something.”

Peter clicked his tongue and bumped his shoulder against Tony’s, ducking his head as he laughed.

“Is that really how you see me, sucking the fun out of everything with unfun facts?” he chuckled.

“Nah, I actually kind of love it. You’re more fun than I’ve had in a while.”

Peter looked up at Tony with wide eyes.

“Oh, you don’t have to say that, sir,” he said quickly, and Tony’s shoulders slumped defeatedly a bit at the honorific.

Peter had been successfully calling him Tony since they got back to the apartment, and suddenly he slipped back into the unwanted formalities.

“Oh no you don’t, Pete. We’re done with the ‘sirs’. You’ve gone long enough without using them, so I definitely know you can. There is no use for them. We’re just Pete and Tony. Tony and Peter got it?” Tony said, but Peter didn’t look at all convinced and Tony sighed before continuing.

“You keep telling me you’re an adult, and you act like an adult just fine. _And_ you look like an adult just fine,” Tony said, reaching out to tug on his leather jacket, “The jacket helps,” he added with a wink. “The only time I think of you as a kid is when you’re being all,” Tony widened his eyes in his best imitation of Peter and raised his voice a bit higher, “Oh, Mr. Stark, sir, I really could be more stubborn, just you watch, sir!” then Tony re-assumed his normal voice, “So you gotta pick, Pete. You want to be an adult or a kid? Cause you’re the only one fighting anymore to maintain those boundaries,” Tony finished.

“But,” Peter replied. “What happens if I pick adult?”

“What do you mean?”

“How’s it any different, besides the titles and endearments? How is it any different?” he repeated.

Tony thought for a moment. How _was_ it different? Tony had stopped calling Peter “kid” every other second somewhere along the way, although sometimes the word popped back up when Peter was being particularly stubborn or ridiculous. But he certainly didn’t like Peter talking up to him like he was some elder to respect. He _really_ didn’t like that.

But would there be a difference in their relationship, really, otherwise?

It felt to Tony like there would be a thousand differences if Peter were actually a kid, instead of just a baby-faced college student-slash-physics prodigy but targeting any one as particularly important seemed a challenge.

“Well,” Tony finally said, “For starters, if you’re an adult, I’ll let you skip the prescription pain med’s and let you stick with the Tylenol on the condition you have a drink with me, because I have probably gone long enough without one.”

“You’re trying to get me to exchange being high for being drunk?” Peter asked. “Are you sure about the dancing monkey thing?”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“I’m not trying to get you drunk, I said _a_ drink, not, ‘Let’s see which of us can down the most shots before throwing up and then wash the taste of bile out of our mouth with beer and then wash the taste of beer out of our mouth with cocktails’,” Tony said. “And plus, I’d be drinking too, so we’d be on even footing this time.”

Peter sighed, but he was smiling, and Tony in an instant knew that he had won. He fist pumped and stood up from the couch, making his way over to the bar.

“You won’t regret it, Pete. Being an adult is fun, particularly when you’re as irresponsible as I’ve been told I am. It’s like being a kid but without any of the rules.”

“Is your goal to make me regret getting into the car with you last night? Because if it is I think you may succeed,” Peter said as Tony poured some bourbon over ice and scooped the two highball glasses he’d set out up, balancing them carefully in one hand while snatching the bourbon bottle up with the other.

“No,” Tony said with a beaming, mischievous grin, “The goal, my dear, is to make it so you regret ever having to leave and go back to your tragically boring normal person life. Now come on,” Tony jerked his head in the direction of the elevator, “I really did have something in the lab I wanted to show you.”

Peter shook his head, and Tony recognized the look. It was a look he’d seen many a friend and lover make when they realize what exactly they’ve gotten themselves into by associating with Tony Stark.

But Tony had never been gladder for the smile that still accompanied it as Peter stood up from the couch and followed Tony, spinning by to grab one of the glasses out of Tony’s hand on the way to the elevator.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not everything I do has to be… productive,” Tony defended, trying to find the words in a brain that suddenly felt foggy. “I’m allowed to have some me-time. Plus you haven’t seen what it can do,” he grinned. “I bet you’ll change your mind.”

“Um, Tony?” Peter asked as the elevator descended. “Where are we going?”

“To the lab,” Tony responded with a mischievous grin.

“I know I’ve been a bit out of it, but I’m pretty sure your lab was only one floor down the last time I went,” Peter pointed out.

“That’s my work lab. We’re going to my test lab.”

“Test lab?”

“Yeah, you know, less windows. Less things that break in general. More concrete and reinforced steel and otherwise just more explosion proof bunker like surroundings five stories underground.” Tony supplied.

“And you’re not going to murder me or anything, right?” Peter asked. “Chain me up in your dungeon to starve to death?”

“Hopefully not,” Tony chuckled at the comparison of his basement lab as a dungeon. “Although I have to admit that I myself have gotten pretty banged up down there before,” Tony shrugged.

“Oh. Great,” Peter said, frowning and taking a small sip of his drink with a gulp.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Pete. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

“If you’re sure,” Peter sounded unconvinced.

“I promise to protect you,” Tony emphasized a bit theatrically, bringing a hand to his chest, as the elevator finally came to a stop and the doors slid open. “Now come on,” he said, stepping out of the elevator and into the lab.

“What is it?”

“It’s a top-secret project I’ve been working on.”

“And you want to show some kid you fished out of a trash heap?” Peter asked skeptically as he followed Tony to a platform in the middle of the exapnsive room. Tony’s latest pet project was hidden behind a metal shield that was currently extended around the platform.

“You aren’t just some kid, Pete, we literally just went over this,” Tony sighed, putting the bourbon bottle and his glass down on a nearby worktop and picking up a keyboard to dial in the access code. “Now, are you ready to have your mind blown?”

“Um, okay,” Peter said, swirling the liquid around his glass and looking somehow both nervous and unimpressed.

“Okay,” Tony said, hitting one more key, causing the metal case around the platform to retract. “May I present to you my baby, my darling, the love of my life—” Tony waxed.

“Oh, and here I was starting to think that was me,” Peter interjected completely deadpan, and Tony was glad his drink was currently untouched on the table, because if he’d had a sip in his mouth, he would have choked on it.

“Anyway,” Tony continued, deciding it best to ignore the joke, “What do you think?” Tony gestured proudly to his creation that stood towering on the platform.

Peter approached it, looking at the object before him as if it were a monolith.

“Are you going to tell me what it is,” Peter asked. “Or are we going to have to play another game of twenty questions?”

“Oh come on, you can definitely guess in less than twenty,” Tony said.

Peter seemed to consider this for a moment, lookin at Tony’s invention calculatingly, then the corner of his mouth rose in a half smile.

“Alright, what’s your bet then?” Peter asked, a grin fully forming.

“What?”

“How many questions will I get it in?”

“Doesn’t this have to go the other way around, _you_ bet if you can do something? If I bet that you can do something you can purposefully throw it.”

Peter sighed.

“Fine. I bet I’ll get it in less than ten questions then.”

“I think you’ll get it in less than five.”

“I thought you just said—” Peter started.

“Changed my mind,” Tony grinned. “Now go.”

“Okay fine. Is it a robot?” Peter asked, looking up at the roughly human shaped metal figure.

“It’s robotic, but it’s not an A.I.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be yes or no?”

“Hey, I’m the one taking a faulty bet, I’m certainly allowed to help you figure it out faster,” Tony defended.

“Fine,” Peter conceded. “So is it remote controlled?”

“No,” Tony grinned, and to think Peter was acting like he couldn’t figure it out. “Wait,” he paused, “What are the stakes of the bet?”

Peter looked at Tony as if he were an idiot.

“Chug your drink, obviously.”

“This bourbon is $500 a bottle, you don’t chug it, Pete.”

“Oh, so you didn’t get in on that bathing in Dom Perignon trend after Beyoncé did it?”

Tony pursed his lips.

“No comment.”

“Is it a suit then?” Peter asked.

“Oh, right on the head Peter!” Tony cheered. “Can you figure out what kind of suit?”

“Can I have a couple weeks to take it apart and try to reverse engineer it?”

“Take apart my suit and I’ll take you apart, Pete,” Tony warned. “And I don’t mean list it’s features like you’re it’s living breathing operation manual. Take a guess more broadly. Why would I build a suit?”

“You’re not going to try and be, like, a super hero, are you?” Peter asked, and Tony could tell that Peter was partially hoping the guess would be judged ridiculous, but at the same time already resigned to that not being the case. 

“Ah, perfect,” Tony grinned. “Now chug it, darling.”

Peter flinched before drawing in a deep breath, looking down at his still mostly full glass with a grimace.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to get me drunk?”

“You’re the one who picked the terms,” Tony said, looking down to locate his own drink, ready to enjoy his right to savor it. But then Tony looked back across at Peter and froze as he noticed that the other man was grinning, his face completely devilish.

“Well, I mean,” Peter said drawing out the word once he saw the look of realization on Tony’s face, “ _Technically_ I did win too. So you should probably chug, too,” he said oh so innocently and Tony realized that he’d been had.

“What?” he asked, incredulously.

“You bet less than five, I bet less than ten. We were both right,” Peter shrugged.

“Fuck,” Tony groaned. “And you knew the whole time, didn’t you? Manipulated me right into this.”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” Peter said, holding up his hands, although his drink was still in one of them. “You’re supposed to be the super genius with your super suit.”

Tony sighed, feeling awfully caught in his own trap.

“Okay, fine, you win Pete,” Tony conceded. “On the count of three. Whoever finishes first gets to try on the suit.”

“You’re acting an awful lot like me and my broken rib want to get strapped into your death trap science fair project!”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“I’ve already done tons of tests,” he said, but Peter didn’t look convinced. “Okay, fine, but you’ll definitely change your mind after you see it in action. On the count of three?” Tony said, raising his glass. Peter did the same. “One…two…three!” Tony knocked back his glass and Peter followed.

He lowered his glass just in time to catch Peter sputtering.

“Oh come on, Pete, you’re the college student. Shouldn’t you be able to chug paint thinner?”

“I thought we already established that I hang out more with the joint and Doritos crowd,” Peter said, coughing. “You’re the seasoned party goer and alcoholic.”

“I’m not an alcoholic, I’m a playboy, there’s a difference.”

“Oh, right, sure,” Peter said. “Not exactly as much of a boy anymore, though, are you?” Peter said looking at Tony appraisingly, with his eyebrows raised. The tone was casual, another quip in a long series of them on Peter’s part, but this time the other man’s eyes were looking at him in a new and different way and it made Tony feel a way that was very, very familiar in many circumstances, but very confusing in this particular one with this particular person.

It must have been the alcohol.

And the best way to combat being sober enough to still have to wonder if it was the alcohol was to drink more.

“Can I get you a refill?” Tony asked, unscrewing the bourbon and pouring himself another glass. Peter took far too long seeming to decide, and Tony eventually reached forward to grab the glass out of his hand and refill it before handing it back, not waiting for approval.

“So, are you really going to be a super hero then?” Peter asked, looking back at the shiny metal red and gold suit. “Prowl the streets looking for injustice inside your fancy super soldier suit? Aren’t superheros supposed to be more stealth?”

“Nah, I’m hardly the vigilante kind of superhero, am I?” Tony said, leaning back against his worktop and taking another sip. “This is a world saving suit. Next time an apocalypse comes, it’ll be here, waiting. And so will I.”

Peter clicked his tongue and Tony immediately knew that “unfun facts” Peter was about to make an appearance.

“Okay, but you ever notice how we’ve never actually been invaded by, like, aliens? Nor transformers or giant undersea lizards or anything? And that our most deadly conflicts aren’t usually something that can be solved simply with brute force?” Peter protested. “Like what, are you going to take on every Nazi one by one? The leader and supporter of every regime that sponsors violence and genocide? Cause it’s going to take you ages.”

“No,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Of course not. This is more of a pull a nuke that’s on route out of the sky kind of suit.”

“Oh, right,” Peter said. “Obviously. And how much money did you spend to be able to commit the world’s most spectacular suicide?”

“I wasn’t exactly keeping an itemized budget. But I obviously did all the labor for free.”

Peter just gave Tony a look.

“You have questions,” Tony observed as he watched the younger man’s very obvious internal reeling.

“Oh, so many,” Peter said with a scoff and a grin.

“Well then ask me,” Tony said with a nod

“Standard rules apply?”

Tony rolled his eyes and smiled, shaking his head.

“Of course. Now, go.”

“So do you honestly ever actually intend to use this thing?”

“I don’t know, we’ll see. That’s kind of the point,” Tony replied. “So, you mentioned you have friends, yeah? You a popular little physics nerd?” Tony asked his question without missing a beat.

“Not really. I have a couple friends though. They’re pretty chill. My friend from high school Ned still lives in the city, but my other close friend from high school was lured out of state with a scholarship to a school in California. She comes home over the winter and summer holidays though. Other than that though there’s no one I’m super close with from college. Just some people I hang out with sometimes, which honestly isn’t even that often. I’m usually pretty busy with school and work and May,” Peter replied with a shrug. “So, you don’t intend to sell it to the government to in fact use as super soldiers en masse?

“I don’t know,” Tony shrugged. “Probably not though, that’s kind of lame, isn’t it? Plus I’m working on rebranding Stark Industries right now anyway. Making a move away from weapons. Although that’s also top secret, probably more top secret then this,” Tony said, reaching out to knock on the suit.

Peter seemed to consider this for a moment with suprise, but went back to giving Tony another look and a playful grin.

“Okay, new rule, and you must pay for any previous noncompliance retroactively—” Peter began, “Any question answered with ‘I don’t know’ requires a shot.”

“These are highball glasses,” Tony pointed out.

“Then a large sip. And you owe me two.”

Tony sighed but didn’t argue and took two long sips of his bourbon.

“What about relationships?” he asked when he’d finished, wasting no time in using his question.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

“Like, have you had any?”

“Not really. There was kind of a thing, once a long time ago with that other friend I mentioned, but we decided we’re better as friends.”

“But you said you’ve had sex,” Tony pointed out.

“And why did your memory cling on to that detail, exactly?” Peter asked, although Tony thought it was equally interesting that Peter apparently so clearly remembered telling him.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m only answering the question because it wasn’t one, actually. You somehow managed to find a way to phrase a follow up as a statement.”

“If you don’t want to tell me about your sex life than fine, but you owe me a shot then.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you about my sex life—okay maybe it is, but it’s not that I won’t,” Peter said, but Tony cut him off.

“Okay, new rule, questions that you avoid answering for two or more back and forth interjections require a shot for every refocusing interjection required of the asker. So you owe me…” Tony counted back in his mind, “Three.”

“Three!” Peter protested.

“Come on Pete, it’s just the rules. I only make them and enforce them.”

Peter sighed, but took three large gulps of his drink, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and grimacing again as he finished.

“And now the answer, _or_ to pass finish your drink.”

Peter sighed, looking at his glass appraisingly as if deciding if he could do it or not.

“Fine,” Peter sighed. “You don’t need to be in a relationship to have sex,” he said with a shrug. “Surely you know that better than anyone.”

Well that was interesting.

“Really?” Tony asked out loud, a bit surprised. Peter definitely seemed like a boyfriend kind of boy. A kid like him probably got eaten alive on Grindr or even Tinder for that matter. But then, the dark and dirty part of his mind reminded him, _maybe that was the point_.

Tony suddenly regretted asking.

“Hey, it’s my turn for a question again. Give me a shot for over-asking!” Peter cried a bit too loudly and it suddenly occurred to Tony that Peter was likely if not already soon going to be very drunk.

But it somehow didn’t occur to Tony as he shrugged and took another drink that he was inevitably soon to be very drunk too.

“So you really think that that, thing, was worth your time and resources?” Peter asked. “That you could have figured out how to end malaria or world hunger, but instead you made a high-tech suit of armor that you will probably never even show anyone besides me?”

“Not everything I do has to be… productive,” Tony defended, trying to find the words in a brain that suddenly felt foggy. “I’m allowed to have some me-time. Plus you haven’t seen what it can do,” he grinned. “I bet you’ll change your mind.”

And then Tony tried to stand up, but the world tilted around him just a bit and he stood still for a moment until everything settled.

“Wait, you aren’t going to—you can’t operate heavy machinery after drinking!” Peter protested, standing up to approach Tony. Tony enjoyed watching the way the other man also wobbled a bit.

“Who says?” Tony asked. “This suit is a brand-new invention! There are no laws or regulations that govern the use of it,” Tony said, picking back up the keyboard and approaching the suit.

“Tony, come on!” Peter protested, reaching out to grab the keyboard.

“Nuh-uh,” Tony said, sidestepping Peter and raising the keyboard over his head. “Come on, I just want to show you how cool it is.”

Peter popped up and made a second grab at the keypad. Tony spun out of the way.

“If you get hurt, I won’t be able to carry you out of here and to get help without puncturing my lung… probably,” Peter argued, although his words were becoming slower and clumsier by the moment.

“But I took you down here to show you my top-secret project and you still don’t think I’m cool,” Tony said. He was trying to be funny and tease Peter, although he wasn’t entirely sure that’s what ended up happening. But either way he did at least manage to type in the code that opened up the suit.

“Tony, stop it!” Peter cried, this time ignoring the keyboard and outright throwing himself at Tony, wrapping his arms around him from behind and squeezing him around the waist.

“Peter, let go!” Tony said.

“No, not until you agree to leave the suit alone,” Peter said, holding on tighter and resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder.

“But—” Tony protested, trying to shake Peter off his back. They continued to struggle for a moment, but Peter just held on tighter.

“I think you’re cool no matter what, isn’t that obvious?” Peter said softly.

“What?” Tony asked, immediately giving up the fight.

“Yeah,” Peter said, letting go and stepping around Tony to face him, “Totally.”

And all Tony could do was look at Peter standing at him, looking at him earnestly with a crooked grin on his lips.

And then he found himself reaching out to brush Peter’s bangs out of his face.

His heart sunk a bit as he felt Peter’s brow knit under his fingers.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, although he didn’t move away from Tony’s touch.

“Your eyes, they’re beautiful.”

Peter’s eyes went wide at this and Tony immediately grinned. Apparently, that wasn’t the correct response though, because instantly they narrowed again, and Tony wondered what he did wrong.

“Oh right,” he said. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” Tony said, dragging a finger down the side of the other man’s jaw.

Peter hummed.

“Maybe we should go to bed," Peter suggested. "Get some sleep,” he added quickly.

That sounded like a terrible idea.

“Nah, Pete, come on, don’t be no fun,” Tony protested. “I promise not to get in the suit, okay? Why don’t we just sit down and talk instead?” he said, sitting down on the floor for emphasis.

“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” Peter looked skeptical.

“Oh, don’t knock it till you try it. Lying on nice cool concrete can be a pretty damn magical experience,” Tony said, sliding to lay down to demonstrate.

Peter sighed, but within a second lay down on the ground next to Tony, stretching out on his back so their heads were side by side but bodies going in opposite directions.

“So you wanted to talk?” Peter asked.

“Sure.”

“What about?”

“Oh,” Tony shrugged. “I don’t know— anything.”

Peter laughed.

“What?”

“I’d tell you that you owe me a shot, but then I’d probably have to get you your glass, which would also mean I’d have to get up, which would also mean I’d have to admit that you’re right, the floor is kind of amazing.”

Tony grinned.

“So why don’t you tell me more about your degree?” he asked. That seemed like a safe topic. And Tony liked to talk physics. It was rare he found anyone good at it.

“Oh, well, it’s…” Peter began, and Tony closed his eyes and listened as Peter began to babble, unable to remember a time he’d ever felt this content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff! Things! They are a-happening!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, I mean, I was just wondering if you had an endgame for this,” Peter said.
> 
> “Endgame?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a few slurs in this chapter. 
> 
> Also I'm 98% sure that this will be the last chapter before Peter finally, finally goes home. So enjoy it. Or if you're finally getting tired of the 35,000 words of continuous dialogue, then hold your horses cause things will be changing soon, some way or another!

“So what really do you hope to do,” Tony asked. “When you grow up or whatever?”

Peter was still lying on his back, fiddling with the end of his scarf. Meanwhile, Tony had rolled over onto his stomach and was now resting his head in his arms, carefully watching Peter as he spoke.

They’d been talking for hours, Tony mostly interrogating Peter about his classes and gauging his opinions on different papers and theories and scientists. The alcohol had solidly worn off now, but they continued lying together on the floor, eventually falling back into their game of twenty (although definitely way passed twenty now) questions.

“I’m not quite sure yet. I’ll probably just apply for every job I’m remotely qualified for and then see what happens. Then probably go back to grad school after a few years after I’ve saved up for it, and then just start the process again.”

“But what’s your dream job?”

“Hey, no follow ups,” Peter said, dropping his hand from the end of his scarf to give Tony’s shoulder a playful swat.

“Fine,” Tony sighed, “Ask your question and ask it fast.”

“Mm,” Peter let out a terribly long hum.

“Peter!” Tony laughed.

“I’m thinking!” Peter defended. “Okay. Why aren’t you married?”

“I don’t kn—” Peter turned to glare at him before he could finish the next word. “Okay. Well, I don’t think I’ve met many people I like enough to get married,” he admitted. “And the people that may have had that potential, well I probably, actually definitely, didn’t treat them well enough for me to be worthy of them spending the rest of their lives with. And well, I’m also not that old, really. And I’m rich, so getting married at fifty to someone half my age is pretty standard. So actually, I’ve still got eons.”

Peter just seemed to consider this and said nothing, so after a few moments Tony got back to his own agenda.

“So, dream job?”

Peter sighed a bit wistfully.

“I’d love to come up with something really helpful, I guess. That does a lot of good for the world. Not essentially cure cancer or anything, I’m not in medicine after all, but you know, if I could make serious advancements on a quantum computer, except probably not a quantum computer because that stuff can be so tedious. Maybe alternative energies. That would be really cool.”

“If you want, you can use my lab, any time you want,” Tony said.

Peter went quiet.

“Peter?” Tony asked, “Are you alright?”

“You don’t really mean that,” he said, softly.

“What do you mean? Of course I do.”

“I don’t think I’m really for any kind of serious inventing yet anyway. I still have a lot to learn.”

“Peter, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and I’m in the business of meeting some of the smartest people in the world. Hell, I can’t usually stand to be around anyone with an IQ under 150.”

“IQ is probably actually a pretty terrible and unreliable marker for intelligence. Most of the numbers we try to use to rate people’s attributes are actually pretty bad at reflecting anything about a person. They aren’t nearly holistic enough.” Peter murmured.

“See! You say things like that all the time. And you know more about physics and engineering than a lot of people I know who are supposed experts in those fields.”

“I know a lot of things, it doesn’t mean I can apply any of it. You know I only got through the first lab I took in college by basically copying off my lab partner? It took me a solid year of constantly feeling like I was on the verge of failing before things began to get easy.”

“But that’s the thing, Pete. It isn’t supposed to get easy. Struggling to maintain perfect grades for a year before it becomes effortless for you is insane.”

Peter said nothing.

“Pete, look at me,” Tony said.

Peter turned his head to comply, rolling over to prop himself up on his elbow.

“You,” Tony said, reaching out to bop Peter on the nose, “Are absolutely amazing, and you’re going to take the world by storm.”

Peter only gave Tony a half smile and said nothing before falling back down onto his back and going back to fiddling with the scarf.

For a few long minutes, they said nothing.

Tony expected to have to be the one to break the silence after offending Peter with his overwhelming support, so he was surprised when Peter spoke first.

“So, are we supposed to fall asleep or something?” Peter asked, turning his head to look at Tony.

Tony furrowed his brow.

“I just slept more than eight hours which is more than I usually sleep in a week and while the concrete is nice and cool it’s not exactly cozy,” he said. “Are you tired? We can go back upstairs. The guestroom is yours. Hell, any plush surface in the house is yours.”

Peter shook his head.

“No, I mean, I was just wondering if you had an endgame for this,” Peter said.

“Endgame?”

“Yeah. I mean, if this were a movie we’d fall asleep again, right?” he asked. “And then we’d wake up in the morning and I’d leave in a hurry.”

“But we already did the falling asleep in a less than ideal place once, a movie wouldn’t do it twice, would it?” Tony said. “And you tried to leave in a hurry. But I asked you to stay and you did,” he pointed out.

“Oh,” Peter conceded. “Right.”

More silence.

“But then what are we doing?” Peter asked.

_What?_

“We were talking, yeah?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Peter said, and Tony immediately rolled up onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow and looking down at Peter, who had returned to staring at the ceiling and fiddling with his scarf.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“If I have to tell you what I mean, I don’t mean anything,” Peter said.

“Peter,” Tony said, not really sure what to say.

“No, never mind.”

“Peter.”

“What?” he said, finally dropping the scarf and turning to look back at Tony.

“I don’t want there to be any kind of endgame.”

“What?”

“I told you that you could come back to my lab any time, I meant it,” Tony said.

“But that—that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why?”

“It just—” Peter said. “Do you really think that being closeted forever is perfectly okay?” he asked suddenly, and Tony instantly felt like he’d gotten whiplash.

“What?”

“Do you?” Peter asked. He still was staring up at the ceiling, but his words felt harsh and heavy.

“I’ve never dated a man long term, I’ve never had to—” Tony tried to explain.

“You could come out though and never even publicly be seen with a man ever, never sleep with another man ever,” Peter said. “That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is that there are people out there who could totally use more modern queer science icons,” Peter said exasperatedly. “And there are a ton more who totally need to see that someone that they thought was the pinnacle of straightness, and also the pinnacle of some kind of twisted, outdated, American dream is actually one of them.”

“One of who?”

“ _Them_. _Us_. The people not like them. The-- you know, whatever nasty words that want to call us-- fags, whatever. Just everyone else that isn't _normal_ ,” Peter declared. “You have a lot of power Tony Stark, and you don’t even try to use it because it’s not convenient to you,” Peter said, his words now dangerously quiet.

Tony didn’t know what to say.

So for a few moments he didn’t say anything.

Then eventually in true Tony Stark evasion he clung on to the thing that Peter said that seemed most beside the point.

“Who needs a queer science icon? What does that even mean?” Tony asked. “Why does there need to be an intersection?”

Peter’s head snapped to the side to look at Tony and he was taken aback by the look on the other mans face. It was like he was holding back a scream.

“Because why shouldn’t there be? Why shouldn’t a queer person have people to look up to? Why shouldn't queer people be good at science? Just like how any people can be good at anything? Why did you make me read between the lines?” Peter said exasperatedly. Tony wanted to pause, rewind, dig into that, because _what was that about Peter reading between the lines_? But Peter seemed uninterested in stopping. “Are you trying to say that queer people, what, aren’t smart enough for science? That they’re too mentally unbalanced for something like that?”

_Wait what?_

“No, of course not,” Tony said. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well that’s what it sounds like. And that’s what people think, when people from any kind of marginalized group don’t succeed in any or every capacity, that it’s _our_ fault. That we’re lazy or broken or something. And no one has to come out before they’re ready or if they’re not safe,” Peter began to ramble, “But for you to sit here without even considering it, without even trying to unpack the reasons I why you don’t feel like you can or like you don’t want to, and struggling with that a bit, it’s just. It’s just—it’s kind of awful. Just so you know.”

Peter finished quietly, the frustration gone from his voice by the end, the tone that remained thugh sounded a bit broken.

And then it was silent.

Then Peter sat up.

“I should go,” he said, pushing up from the ground, looking as if possibly he just realized he was the worst person on the planet who had made some sort of unforgivable offense.

But Tony didn’t feel that way at all. Maybe he should have, but he didn’t. But maybe Peter was right, there was so much Tony didn’t know about him.

Just as there were things Peter didn’t know about Tony.

They weren’t done talking yet.

“Wait,” Tony found himself saying, pushing himself up and reaching out to grab onto Peter’s wrist. “Don’t leave.”

“What?” Peter asked, looking a little stunned.

“Don’t leave. Not yet. I’ll make you breakfast.”

“What? Jarvis, what time is it?” Peter asked.

“It’s 3:45 AM, sir,” Jarvis supplied, and Peter looked nervously back and forth between Tony and the elevatoe, looking ready to bolt.

“That’s the perfect time for breakfast!” Tony defended. “Particularly after a night of drinking!”

Peter didn’t say anything, but Tony took it in stride.

“You don’t have to say anything, just don’t leave. Come upstairs with me. We can bake muffins. And maybe a nice quiche. It’ll be great.”

Peter opened his mouth, but then closed it again, and instead only sighed.

“Great! Come on, let’s go!” Tony said, standing up and grabbing Peter by the hand and dragging him over to the elevator, stepping in together once it arrived. The silence between them was not even terribly uncomfortable, surprisingly.

“Um, Tony,” Peter asked a few moments later as they ascended back to the top of the tower. “Can you even cook?”

Tony looked at Peter with an embarassingly large grin on his face, pleased that Peter was talking to him again. Quickly though he tried to stiffle it, forcing his lips into a tight line.

“Honestly, I’m surprised there are people that can’t cook. It’s just following instructions,” Tony shrugged.

“But do you have the ingredients for breakfast?”

“Jarvis, send someone to get whatever could possibly be needed for muffins and quiche!” Tony commanded.

 Peter opened his mouth like he had about a million complaints, but Tony pressed a finger over the other man’s lips to silence him.

“Shh, Pete,” he said. “Just let me do a little magic, alright? If you really don’t think I can ever be a superhero, then the least you can let me do is be a magician. Make a little magic happen for you.”

Peter reached up to pull Tony’s hand away from his mouth, but after he did so he shook his head and sighed, a small smile on his face.

“I never said you can’t be a super hero. I’ve just been suggesting you re-evaluate what it means to be one.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to sigh, and he threw his arm around Peter’s shoulder.

“I’ll think about it, Pete,” he sighed. “I promise you I’ll think about it.”

Peter turned to look at Tony, and Tony was suddenly painfully aware of how close their faces were as he tethered them together.

“That’s all I ask,” Peter said with a hopeful half-smile. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted you to do.”

Tony could only mimic Peter’s face, offering the same hopeful half-smile back.

“Anything for you darling, anything.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know that old quote about great power coming with great responsibility, right?” Tony asked.
> 
> Peter’s eyes widened.
> 
> “Uh,” he said as he furrowed his brow and looking a little shocked and confused, “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this helps some of the stuff in the last chapter make a little more sense :)

“Jarvis, why is there tofu?” Tony asked as he rifled through the groceries that had been dropped off a few moments ago. “Don’t tell me Pepper got to you again about my vegetable intake?”

“No, sir, that is not the case at all,” Jarvis said. “You instructed me to get whatever could possibly be needed for muffins and quiche. I was only following your instructions.”

“And so am I supposed to make tofu _muffins_ or tofu _quiche_?”

“Probably, tofu quiche,” Peter piped in from where he sat on a stool on the opposite side of the island, looking up from a carton of blueberries he’d been carefully observing, still clearly a bit nervous after the camraderie Tony had come to love had been fractured after his outburst.

Tony didn’t quite understand why Peter cared so much—his insistence on Tony admitting his not-straightness seemed odd coming from a guy that Tony didn’t really even have the faintest idea that he was also not-straight until just a few hours ago that night. They’d spent an entire day together doing nothing but talking, and he’d barely had even half a hint until Peter came barreling out of the closet, full of some kind of apparently deep-seeded frustration in Tony.

Tony may have been not out and proud and a “queer icon,” but Peter in all honesty didn’t really seem to be striving particularly hard to be any of those things either. Which inevitably meant something else was going on, but Tony had absolutely no idea what it was.

“What?” Tony asked in response, eager to keep Peter talking. He liked Peter, he really did, but he liked him best when he wasn’t curled in on himself, looking like some kind of wounded puppy.

“You can make a vegan quiche with tofu in place of the eggs, I think. Jarvis was probably teasing because you weren’t specific,” Peter said with a shrug.

Tony could only sigh and silently curse out his smart ass A.I. Maybe all those sci-fi and dystopian books and films where right, allowing a robot to have a personality would only ever lead to trouble.

Except for instead of him falling in love with his A.I. or it taking over the world or something _interesting_ , his was just occasionally a bit of an asshole who thought he was funny.

“So you’re telling me you’ve eaten tofu quiche?” Tony asked Peter, trying to engage him again. 

“Um, no. I haven’t. But MJ, uh, the friend I mentioned before is vegan. Or she was vegetarian for a really long time, the vegan thing’s newer. But anyway… yeah.”

Then an awkward silence fell, and Tony sighed.

“So, how about you make the muffins then, and I’ll work on the quiche? I don’t think I can trust you anywhere near it if you know how to take something delicious like quiche and turn it into a rubbery disk of tofu-y sadness,” Tony joked, but Peter didn’t laugh.

“Okay,” he shrugged, reaching for a bag of flour. “Can you, um, get me a recipe though?”

“Oh, my little science genius can’t figure out how to make fluffy muffins all on his own?” Tony teased.

“Chemistry was always the one I was worst at,” Peter said meekly.

Tony sighed. _Come on, Pete, it's okay._

“I was only teasing, Pete,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and pulling up a highly rated recipe for blueberry muffins before handing the phone to Peter.

“I know,” Peter murmured, reading over the recipe before hopping down from the stool at the island he was sitting on and making his way over to the ovens, setting the upper of Tony’s double ovens to preheat. “What temperature does your quiche need to be at?” he asked.

“375 is fine,” Tony said as Peter fiddled with the buttons on the lower oven. “Thank you.”

Peter turned back around and offered a meek smile.

“Do you know where mixing bowls would be?” he asked.

“Sure thing,” Tony said, reaching down into a cabinet to hand Peter a couple mixing bowls and a muffin tin, pulling a rubber spatula and a set of measuring cups out of a drawer for him as well. Then he went to grab his own bowl and began cracking eggs into it.

“So,” Tony said, trying to make small talk but not have it be painful, “You mentioned you have a class today, right? What is it? Thermodynamics? Condensed matter?” he asked teasingly.

“Oh,” Peter said, looking up from the cup of flour he was measuring with surprise, “No, it’s not a physics class.”

“Well, what is it?” Tony asked.

“It’s a class on gender and sexuality in the media, actually.”

Tony could have laughed. In fact he did.

“God, Pete, that makes everything make more sense.”

“What?” Peter asked.

“Your little rant on queer representation, I forget you’re a college kid. Fuck, it makes sense now though.”

“What?” Peter asked again, looking at Tony with wide eyes.

“Well when you’re in college, whatever you’re learning is just the most important and mind-boggling thing in the world, isn’t it? God, I was probably insufferable back then, talking down to anyone who would listen about how their understanding of engineering or computers or whatever it was I was learning about was actually completely wrong. Someone three rooms over could mention something tech related and I’d be there in an instant to roll my eyes and talk down to them, because I was a supposedly disinterested and above everything super genius and everyone else was painfully unenlightened,” Tony shook his head and grimaced a bit at the distant memories of his teenage self. “You were way too nice and polite to be as smart as you are,” he laughed. “I should have known.”

“You think I’m insufferable?” Peter asked, and Tony could only close his eyes and smack himself in the forehead, dragging his hand down his face. Of course that’s what Peter would pull out from that.

“No, Pete, you’re not insufferable. You’re just young and excited about the world. It’s nice. It just, I couldn’t figure out why you cared so much,” Tony shrugged.

“I’d care even if I wasn’t taking a class!” Peter defended instantly, a bit of a fire returning to his eyes and Tony smiled victoriously. “I took the class because I wanted to learn more about something I already cared about,” he insisted.

“And why did you care, hm?” Tony asked, trying to restrain his beaming grin.

“Because!” Peter proclaimed, unhelpfully.

Tony sighed yet again, but then he came up with an idea.

“Can I guess?” Tony asked.

“What?”

“Can I guess? Twenty questions style?”

“But you’re insisting I only care because I’m taking a class,” Peter said.

“Yeah, and you’re telling me I’m wrong. So I want to know if I am or not, but you won’t tell me. So I’m going to have to guess why you think you care.”

“It’s not why I think I care! It’s why I actually care,” Peter defended.

Tony ignored that.

“So can I?” Tony asked. “Guess?”

For a second they just looked at each other. Then, after taking a deep breath. Peter spoke.

“Okay,” he said a quietly. “Okay, I guess.”

“Great!” Tony said. “Okay, so I guess you think you care because of your own not-straightness, right?” he asked, getting back to his quiche, carefully chopping up some broccoli.

“Yeah,” Peter responded while he combined wet and dry ingredients of his batter.

“But there is something more than that, more specific, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And are you out?”

“What?” Peter asked, looking far too surprised.

“Are you out?”

“Yeah, sure, I mean, of course.”

“To everyone?”

“What do you mean, to everyone?”

“You know, most people who know you on any kind of personal level, they know?”

“I mean, my aunt knows. Ned and MJ know. A couple of my other school friends know,” Peter rambled.

“But you aren’t like president of the Queens College GSA or whatever? You don't, scarves aside, typically dress in rainbows or anything?”

“I went to Pride last year,” Peter said, a bit helplessly and not technically in answer to the question.

“So you’re a hypocrite?” Tony asked, although he made the accusation flippantly, more of a statement than as a question, and with no malice in his voice.

“I—” Peter stuttered. “I don’t have power, like you do.”

“Pete, you can affect the people in your life just as much if not more than I can affect any given member of the general public.”

Peter didn’t say anything.

“It’s okay Pete, you don’t have to be any kind of way.”

“But—”

“You know that old quote about great power coming with great responsibility, right?” Tony asked.

Peter’s eyes widened.

“Uh,” he said as he furrowed his brow and looking a little shocked and confused, “Yeah.”

“Well, sometimes, if you don’t know if you can use your power responsibly, it’s better not to use it at all. If you’re still afraid, if I’m still afraid, we don’t have to do anything we’re not ready for. We shouldn’t do anything we can’t handle or do it before we’re ready. That’s irresponsible,” Tony shrugged. “And so is using the influence you have over someone to try and make them be someone they aren’t or aren’t ready to be,” he added. “It’s often more effective to make people find it within themselves to want to be better, not to stage flat out interventions.”

Tony said the words gently but something in the air around them seemed to shatter as the silence fell between them. 

Peter just kept staring at him, for a long, long time, his eyes wide and glistening.

Then Tony could only watch as he seemed to physically crumble, Tony’s words having more weight on him than Tony had at all expected they possibly could have.

Maybe there was some truth in Peter's initial insistence in Tony's power after all, but Tony also didn't imagine most people cared about him as much as Peter did. 

And that was a shocking realization in and of itself. 

“I—I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, quickly ducking his head down, shoulders hunching in. Then he sniffed and reached up to wipe his eyes and Tony realized that he was crying.

“Hey,” Tony said gently, quickly making his way around the island. “It’s okay,” he said, reaching out to place a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

At the contact, Peter froze, and Tony thought he was going to pull away in shame. But then instead, surprising Tony as he inevitably always did, Peter instead moved in the opposite direction as Tony anticipated, and instead gripped onto Tony, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Woah,” Tony gasped as their bodies slammed together, Peter’s body warm against his. “It’s alright,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Peter, returning the embrace.

But it seemed only a few seconds after it happened though, Peter was pulling back.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” he said, straightening up and sniffing one more time and wiping the last of the tears from his eyes.

“Hey,” Tony said, reaching out and grabbing Peter’s hand to keep him from retreating any farther. “It’s alright," he repeated. "I told you it’s all alright, right after you got in the car with me and I meant it,” Tony said, and he took a step closer to Peter, so they were only inches apart. “In fact, it’s only gotten truer,” he said, trying harder than he perhaps ever had in his life to sound earnest.

“Oh,” Peter gasped, his lips parting slightly, and in that moment the thought passed through Tony’s mind that he could kiss him.

Then there was a beeping noise, as one of the ovens announced it was up to temperature, and Tony immediately dropped Peter’s hand and stepped away, startled by both the thought and the noise.

For a moment they stood there awkwardly, just staring at each other.

“So do you want to keep guessing?” Peter asked softly.

Tony only then remembered that they had been playing a game.

“Oh, um, no,” he said quickly. “I think I know enough for now. You can, uh, tell me when you're ready.”

Peter made the minutest of nods and said nothing, and the silence resumed.

“So,” Tony said eventually, scratching the back of his neck. “The muffin almost ready to go in the oven?” he asked.

“Um,” Peter said, shaking his head quickly as if he too was trying to shake off a thought and letting out a shuddered breath as the weird tension from before finally faded, “Yeah, I just need to put the batter into the tins.”

“Great!” Tony said, sounding far more manic and panicked then he’d have preferred. “Well, you do that, and I just need to get the filling in the crust,” Tony said, practically leaping around the counter and grabbing a container of pre-made pie crust. “Jarvis’s thoroughness may be a bit purposefully obtuse sometimes, be at the very least he can realize that the number of fucks I give about making pie crust from scratch is very small,” he joked.

Peter just smiled up at him and continued to spoon batter into the muffin tin, but somehow, even though the smile was small and a bit sad looking, the look none-the-less made Tony’s heart palpitate irregularly. He’d forgotten about asking the doctor to run an echo. Both he and Pepper had always warned him he’d drive himself to some kind of organ failure someday. He had never seriously thought his heart was so vulnerable though. Maybe a kidney or his liver, but not his heart.

But all he could do is helplessly roll out the crust to line the pie tin, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach as he realized that it was quite possible he was profoundly fucked, and it was definitely all Peter’s fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I swear Peter will leave in the next chapter.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well,” Peter said, awkwardly. “Goodbye then. Thanks for everything.”
> 
> “Not goodbye, Pete. I’ll see you later.”

“Your quiche is surprisingly okay,” Peter said after taking a cautious bite of it while he sat on the stool at the breakfast bar across from Tony.

Tony laughed as Peter took another bite, this one a bit larger.

“Where did you get it in your head that I’d be a disaster at cooking? I’ve basically figured out how to build a human brain and turned it into my PA. You think I’d be defeated by some eggs?”

“I mean, that’s the cliché isn’t it though? Cooking is always kryptonite for otherwise really capable people?”

“Your blueberry muffins are divine as well, so it looks like neither of us fit the trope then.”

Peter looked down at his plate, stabbing at his quiche but not actually making to take a bite this time.

“That’s also the thing, isn’t it?”

“ _What_  is also the thing?” Tony asked a bit suspiciously, digging a blueberry out of his muffin and popping it in his mouth.

“Well, one of us is supposed to be good at cooking and one of us is supposed to be bad, and the bad one is supposed to gush at how good the good one is, and the one that’s bad with at it is supposed to be somehow really endearing in their awfulness.”

“So,” Tony said, slowly. “Let me get this straight. You are not only casting us together in a really cliché rom-com, but you also thought _you’d_ get to be the one that’s good at cooking and _I’d_ be the one that’s completely helpless at it?”

Peter’s face turned cherry red.

“I’m not casting us in a rom-com!” he said a little too quickly and forcefully. “But I mean, you’re already clearly the one who is all together and brilliant and powerful. You’re supposed to have a kryptonite.”

Tony laughed

“And what were you going to do when I was bad at cooking, then? Come save me, wrap your arms around me from behind and teach me the appropriate technique for beating eggs?”

Peter looked now like he was trying to use the full power of his embarrassment to will himself into ceasing to exist.

“No! Of course not! It’s just not fair,” he harrumphed. “I’m the underdog who is supposed to finally be able to redeem themselves through a blueberry muffin!”

“I hate to break it to you, Pete, but your hardly an underdog.”

“What?”

“Maybe you were once, although I doubt it. But any underdog streak you had going inevitably has ended in the past twenty-four hours.”

“I—what?”

“Hey, what’s your last name?” Tony asked suddenly. 

“What?”

“Your last name? Or are you still trying to keep secrets?” Tony continued. “Although, you know my full name, and full biography apparently, so I think it’s only fair.”

“P-Parker,” Peter stuttered.

“Okay, well then, I hate to break it to you, but you, Peter Parker, have won the favor of one of the most powerful men in the world,” Tony announced simply. “And you can try to pretend that isn’t a thing that’s happened, but it has, and with it goes your underdog title. Now if you’re losing it’s just because you’re being stubborn.”

Peter just gaped at him.

“What on earth do I really even have to win?”

“Well, I don’t know, you’re the one who introduced this schema. But probably everything. I imagine that you could win everything with a bit of help. Probably even without it, but it would inevitably take a bit longer.”

“I don’t want your help,” Peter repeated the very familiar sentiment and Tony sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I know  _that_ ,” he said. “I’m just saying that you have it,” he smiled and reached across the counter to lay a hand on Peters shoulder. “You could have anything,” he added softly. “Whether or not you choose to take it is inevitably something I can’t help. But don’t go around proclaiming otherwise,” Tony slid his hand across Peter’s shoulder, gripping him around the back of his neck. “There is nothing more heartbreaking though than someone who could have anything they want and insists on feeling like they’re fighting the world all on their own in a battle to survive.”

“It’s not that easy, Tony,” Peter murmured.

“It could be,” Tony said simply, stroking his thumb along Peter’s jaw. Peter shook his head, shaking Tony’s hand from his face as well, and Tony let it fall but stubbornly returned his grip to the other man’s shoulder. “Come back. Or hell, don’t leave.”

“What?”

“When you’re done with your class, checked in with your aunt, come back. We can work in my lab. Or watch TV. Or have a cook off to see whose culinary skills reign supreme," Tony offered, trying a little too hard to sound casual.

“What?”

“Or just don’t leave. Stay. I’ll get the doctor to write you another note. Borrow my phone again. Hell, I’ll have a new one delivered for you to have.”

“You’re crazy,” Peter said, jumping down from the stool and finally making Tony let go.

“Maybe, but it’s part of my charm.”

“I have a life, Tony.”

“And it will still be there. Or that’s why you go and then come back.”

“You also have a life.”

“I have absolutely nothing on my schedule this week.”

“Because you have a project to work on.”

“We’ll yeah, that’s why I said you could come over and we could work together. Bring your homework for all it matters.”

“What about after this week, then?”

“I’ll make time. Believe it or not, I work very hard to be able to fuck off whenever I want. That’s the ‘playboy’ part. I’m not just a genius industrialist billionaire. I also make a lot of time to have fun. I could have fun with you.”

“I don’t think I’m the kind of fun you’re looking for.”

“Don't tell me what I want. You already have been. I’ve had more fun this past day and a half than I have in years. And I was even sober for a large part of it.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean? Why was I sober? Because I wanted to show off my obnoxious cars to you because you're cute when you look at me like I'm crazy and even I try to make an effort to not endanger the lives of others driving drunk.”

“No, I mean, why? Why me?” Peter asked.

Tony paused to think about that. Well. That was a good question, maybe. Why Peter? Why this kid, this man? Tony could have the attention of anyone in the world, yet here he was still hanging out with this guy that he’d pulled out of a trash heap in Queens.

Maybe it was wanting something he couldn’t have—trying to win over this person who despised him just to prove that he could.

But then, it had become increasingly clear that Peter didn’t despise him. Not really. Not at all. Maybe even the opposite.

So then, maybe “Why him?” was a good question.

But then maybe it wasn’t.

Actually, Tony thought, it was really probably an entirely irrelevant question.

“Why not?” Tony shrugged. “Why not you?”

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

“What kind of reason do you want?”

“I—” Peter fumbled. “I don’t know.”

“I imagine you do.”

“Well what about you? If you know, then why don’t you do something about it?” Peter said, and even though his tone wasn't in any particular way, the words cut into Tony like a challenge Tony hadn't been prepared for.

Tony sat there frozen, just looking at Peter. The other man was standing now, his posture defiant. And somehow in that moment, Tony forgot every word of every language he knew.

“That’s what I thought,” Peter shrugged, suddenly aloof in a way that made Tony’s stomach twist.

“Come on, Pete,” Tony said, hopping off of his stool and making his way around the counter to Peter. “I want you to come back. I want more time.”

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” he said.

“Wait really?” Tony asked.

Peter sighed again.

“Yeah. I mean not staying forever, that’s—well that’s insane. But about coming back. Sometime. Maybe.”

“Can I do anything to help increase the odds?” Tony asked, taking a careful step closer to Peter.

Peter smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. Then he took a step forward, so that he was nearly toe to toe with Tony.

“No,” he said simply, reaching out to pat a hand on Tony’s chest, right over Tony’s suddenly pounding heart. Then the hand came to rest, and Tony’s heart only beat faster as he worried if Peter could feel it. “I should go now though.”

“It’s still so early, you could stay a while longer.”

“No,” Peter shook his head, finally taking a step back and letting his hand fall from Tony’s chest. “I think now is good.”

“Why?” Tony asked, although he wasn’t sure what kind of answer he was expecting.

“Now seems like a good time,” Peter shrugged. “Doesn’t it?”

“I—” Tony opened his mouth and started but wasn’t sure exactly what to say. “Your clothes. I—I meant to have them washed. I forgot.”

“Oh, right,” Peter said, looking down at himself, he was still dressed up in Tony’s sweats and leather jacket, plus the ridiculous, wonderful scarf. “Keep them, I guess it’s only fair, since I’ll have to leave with your clothes then, although these sweatpants are really nice, and my jeans are from TJ Maxx, so I don’t imagine it’s a fair trade,” Peter said, scrunching up his face sympathetically. “You should take your jacket back though,” he said quickly, making to shrug it off.

“No,” Tony said quickly, darting forward to put his hands on Peter’s shoulders to keep the jacket firmly in place. “Keep it. It’s a bit chilly out.”

Peter looked skeptical.

“Jarvis, what’s the temperature outside?” he asked.

“It is 52 degrees Fahrenheit, Mr. Parker.”

“See, freezing!” Tony said at the same time Peter said, “So it’s practically balmy!”

Then they both sighed.

“You can give it back to me later. And I’ll give you your clothes back too.”

“Are you trying to incentivize my return?”

“Yes,” Tony smiled, scratching the back of his neck. “Is it working?”

“I could just mail you back the jacket.”

“But who mails things anymore?”

“You could send my clothes with a courier and have the courier pick up the jacket from me.”

“You know, I’ve been considering taking a day to try out a job in an entirely different field, see if I can come up with some ways to innovate it. Maybe I’ll be a courier for a day then.”

“And come visit me?”

“This could work the other way around.”

“You hate Queens.”

“But I like you,” Tony said, squeezing Peter’s shoulders.

Peter scrunched up his face and seemed to weigh his options for how he could possibly respond to that, but instead just sighed.

“Okay, I’m leaving now,” he said, stepping once again out of Tony’s grasp and this time turning towards the elevator.

“Wait, let me call you a car,” Tony insisted.

“I’ll take the train.”

“Let me give you some money for the fare then at least.”

For a second Peter just stood there, back still to Tony.

“I know you have no money on you, Pete. Are you really going to jump the turnstile rather than let me give you $2.75?”

Peter sighed and turned around.

“I was thinking about it.”

Tony shook his head and dug his wallet out of his pocket.

“Here,” he said, holding out a bill.

“Wow,” Peter said, accepting the five-dollar bill, “I was beginning to think that you didn’t carry bills smaller than twenties.”

“Ha ha, funny, Pete,” Tony said, and Peter quirked his lip in a half smile.

Then there was silence.

“Well,” Peter said, awkwardly. “Goodbye then. Thanks for everything.”

“Not goodbye, Pete. I’ll see you later.”

Peter said nothing but offered a small smile that Tony did not like the look of at all before turning back again and going over to call the elevator. It arrived faster than Tony swore it ever had in all the time he’d lived there, and Peter stepped in.

“Don’t think I’ll let you just slip away like this was nothing, Peter,” Tony called out. 

Another quick, slightly pained looking smile crossed Peter’s face.

“Stop making this hard, Tony,” Peter said so softly Tony was barely sure he heard him right just as the doors began to slide shut.

Then Peter had the audacity to raise a hand for a single wave as he disappeared behind them, the doors closing without a sound and Peter presumably being whisked away.

And Tony stood alone, three quarters of quiche and ten untouched blueberry muffins growing cold on the counter, and a twisting, ill feeling in his stomach that made him without a second thought abandon them there in disgust, instead going over to the elevator, pressing the call button.

It took a while for it to come, but as the elevator dinged, signaling it's arrival, Tony imagined Peter still standing there.

He imagined launching forward to embrace him, gripping his face and-

The doors opened and the elevator was empty. 

Tony shook the thought from his head as he stepped in and pressed the button for his basement lab, eager for a distraction. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I had to find a new job and then find a new place to live and then start the new job and I still have to move so things are a bit crazy. But fun fact I will now be living slightly geographically closer to Forest Hills (and by that I mean hardly at all because in a surprising turn of events I refuse to leave Bushwick.)
> 
> But Peter's finally left!? Is he gonna come back? Is Tony gonna hunt him down? Will the next chapter start with a "Two years later..."? Who knows? (Inevitably not me.)


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony was aware it had been two days. He had never in his entire life been more aware of the passage of time.
> 
> He knew it had been exactly 51 hours since Peter had left Stark Tower and him. He knew that there hadn’t been the slightest word from Peter since.

“Tony, where the hell have you been?”

Tony looked up from his robotic suit to see Pepper walking out of the elevator looking far too… determined.

That was never good.

“Hey! Who let you down here? Jarvis! Security breach!”

“You gave Ms. Potts the right to override me in emergency situations, sir,” Jarvis announced. Tony swore sometimes he could hear the A.I. smirking, somehow, despite his complete lack of corporality.

“Does this look like an emergency?” Tony snapped, gesturing vaguely to nothing in particular. He stood over his work bench, the suit laid out, piles of tools and metal parts and crumpled wires surrounding him.

“We both had concerns for your safety,” Jarvis said simply, and Tony considered building the A.I. a body just so he could slap it or something, for fucks sake.

“Fine, whatever. Hey, Pepper? Since you’re here, I need you to look into something for me.”

“Tony, Jarvis says you’ve been down here for two days,” Pepper said, ignoring Tony’s request. “What are you even working on? I thought you took the week off to work on the Stark A.I.”

“The Stark A.I. is so boring, I needed something more stimulating," Tony said dismissively. "Also, back to my question, what do you know about whales?”

“So you’re working on your Halloween costume?”

Tony groaned. It certainly _was not_ a Halloween costume. It had hand blasters and automatic weapons inserted into the sides for fucks sake.

“So do you think you could do some research for me then, on whales?” he said instead, deciding to ignore the low blow all together.

“Tony, you haven’t eaten, you haven’t moved more than two feet from this work table of yours in forty-eight hours, apparently. Have you even, you know, been to use the bathroom?”'

Tony groaned in frustration.

He was aware it had been two days. He had never in his entire life been more aware of the passage of time.

He knew it had been exactly 51 hours since Peter had left Stark Tower and him. He knew that there hadn’t been the slightest word from Peter since.

Tony had told Jarvis to let him know if the other man even walked past the tower on the sidewalk across the street, but the A.I. never made a report, and had nothing to report the dozen times that Tony had checked in.

He’d kept making excuses, trying to think like Peter. At first it was, “He’ll come back after his class.” Then it was, “He’ll stop by again after dinner with his aunt.” Then it was, “It’s too late to expect him to come out from Queens, give him a day.” Then it was, “I bet he just has a packed schedule today with school, maybe this evening.” Then it was, “I bet he got called into work.” Then it was, “He probably got roped into hanging out with some friends, I bet he’ll get bored though and stop by later though.” But then two days had passed, and he was officially running out of excuses.

And he was beginning to worry that maybe Peter would not come back at all.

And even though Tony had said he might go after Peter, the thought of actually tracking him down felt creepy and inappropriate and wrong.

But Tony was not going to tell Pepper any of this, so instead, not looking up from his suit, he reached to grab a rather full water bottle and hold it up for Pepper to see, in answer to her question. “If you could do some research on organizations related to the protection of whales, I’d appreciate it.” he said instead.

“Ugh!” he heard Pepper grimace. “Tony, okay, you have to go upstairs, now. See the sunlight. Finish the A.I. and put together a presentation for the board to give at the end of the month,” she admonished, ignoring Tony’s question.

So Tony just ignored her and went back to fiddling with some of the wiring in his suits internal processor.

Pepper let out an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, fine, Tony why do you need to know about the protection of whales? And you mean the animal right? Not the country?”

“Yes, I mean the animal. Why would I give a fuck about Wales the country?”

“Why would you care about whales the animal?”

“Pepper,” Tony said very seriously, finally looking up from his suit to look her dead in the eye. “Isn’t that obvious? I want to save them,” he announced.

“The—whales? You want to save—the whales?” Pepper asked, slowly, and Tony rolled his eyes, putting down his wire cutters and walking over to Pepper, slinging an arm over her shoulder and leading her over to the elevator.”

“Yes. Whales. Keep up Pep!” he said, knowing he was very suddenly behaving just a little too manic.

“Are you alright Tony?”

“I’m fine,” Tony said. “However, the whales are not. I’ve done a little research myself. Did you know that even though whaling has decreased over recent decades, whales continue to face threats from other human caused phenomena like oiling? And that most species of whale don’t reproduce until their seven to ten years old and their gestation period is ten to sixteen months, meaning their recovery as a species is an incredibly slow process?” he said, pressing the call button.

“No, I didn’t,” Pepper said, stepping around Tony so he was between her and the elevator. “But you seem to have a pretty solid handle on whale research, why do you need me to do it?”

“Because you’re the person who manages my foundation and stuff. You’d know how to get the whale saving checks to the whale saving organizations written in the way that kind of thing is supposed to be done. Don’t you like procedure, Pep?”

“I do like procedure, Tony. I also like to know why you’re doing the things you’re doing—wait? Does this have something to do with that kid?” Pepper asked suddenly and apparently read enough from Tony’s reaction to continue. “Is he extorting you? Did you not get him to sign an NDA? I literally put a stack of them in your nightstand drawer.”

“He is definitely not extorting me! And I didn’t sleep with him!” Tony defended. Because he _hadn’t,_ by the way. “Speaking of which though, I do want all whale types saved. You know, sperm, humpback, killer, blue, hell, even the belugas and the narwhals. Even if they aren’t currently endangered, I want to make sure that no whale can ever be harmed at any point until the planet is absorbed by the sun, okay?”

“Tony—”

“Pepper.”

Then she sighed.

“Okay, fine. Is there a timeline for this?”

“No,” Tony said, just as the elevator finally arrived, announcing itself with a _ding_. “But could you figure out how to get some kind of press release out about something ASAP. I want my whale saving efforts mentioned on any and every newspaper and magazine, alright? And update my Wikipedia page as well, make sure my dedication to whales is mentioned in the philanthropy section,” he said, guiding Pepper into the elevator.

“Okay, Tony, you have to have some kind of motive for this and considering you didn’t give a damn about the whales, and the only other thing that’s new within the past 24 hours is the kid.”

“He’d not a kid!”

“Tony—”

“I promised him I’d save the whales if he got in my car with me, and I’m just keeping that promise.”

“So you’re extorting him?”

“No one is remotely extorting anyone!” Tony quickly stepped out of the elevator, “Jarvis, send Ms. Potts upstairs, please!” he said, hoping the A.I. would shut the door. He suddenly was thinking that maybe Peter was right about the hazards of not having buttons inside of his elevators. At the very least the one that closed the doors.

“Oh no you don’t, Tony!” Pepper said, catching Tony by the arm and dragging him back into the elevator. “You’re not going back down to this lab until after you’ve made your presentation. I swear to god, Tony Stark, you are going to do your job and be responsible for once in your life,” she continued to scold while holding onto Tony with a death grip. “Jarvis, shut the doors.”

“But I don’t want to!” whined as he watched the doors quickly slide shut. “And what the fuck Jarvis?” Tony asked after his A.I. betrayed him.

Jarvis didn’t say anything.

Tony yanked his arm back from Pepper, and she let him go, the doors now safely closed. He crossed his arms over his chest petulantly.

“Fine. Set up the meeting with the board for the end of this week, I’ll have everything ready.”

“There isn’t any need to rush, Tony.”

“The end of this week and then I’m done with this. Okay? The tech will be done, that’s my part. You and the board and all of my little vice presidents and C.E.O.’s and whatever other title I let them have to actually feel important can actually do some work for once okay? I’ll give a speech at the launch, but after this, I’m done.”

Pepper seemed to soften, although Tony could not imagine why because he was being a total dick.

“Hey, did something happen? You were really excited about the new product line, and now suddenly it’s boring and you want nothing to do with it?” she observed, placing a hand gently on Tony’s arm.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a breath.

“I’m glad my company is headed in this direction, it’s just not my priority anymore personally.”

“And what is then?”

The response flashed in his mind, but it felt too stupid to even fully accept, none the less say out loud.

Now that _he_ was gone and hadn’t come back, Tony felt… well, he felt like an idiot.

“I don’t—I don’t know really.”

“What do you want? This is your company, Tony, if you have a new project in mind, we can work on something else. If you turn over a finalized prototype and plan for the A.I. your board will be distracted for a while, but you can’t just save the whales and fiddle with some giant robot and become a hermit.”

Tony didn’t actually see any reason why he shouldn’t be able to do that if he wanted, actually, so he didn’t say anything.

“Hey, Tony, what’s up?” Pepper tried again. “Tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing—It’s—I don’t know what it is. I’ll finish the A.I. okay? And we’ll take it from there. I’ll take it from there.”

The elevator arrived up at Tony’s work lab, the doors sliding open, and Tony stepped out.

“Tony—”

“I’ll get it done, Pepper, okay. Let the board know, set up the meetings, yadda yadda yadda.”

Pepper nodded.

“Okay,” she said, reaching out to hold the elevator door so it stayed open but not stepping out. “And I’ll look into the whales.”

“Thanks Pepper.”

“I’ll come back tonight as well with some food. And then you’re going to sleep as well,” Pepper added, letting go of the elevator door.

Tony said nothing to that, figuring he’d fight that battle when he got there and there was nothing he could do now to prevent it.

“To the lobby, Ms. Potts?” Jarvis asked.

“Yes, thanks,” she said, as the doors slid shut.

Once Pepper was gone, Tony walked over to his desk and flopped down in his chair. The notes from the quantum computer that Peter had picked up all those hours ago was sitting on top of the pile of his scattered notes.

Tony placed the notes carefully to the side, digging back out the schematic for his A.I. and waking up his computer monitor, ready to get back to work and get the A.I. project out of the way.

He had other things he wanted to focus on, apparently.

Although maybe he should just try to get back to his life and forget about him, like Peter might have done.

But Tony really didn’t want that.

If only he would come back.

“Hey, Jarvis?” Tony called out.

“Yes sir?”

“Peter hasn’t tried to stop by, has he?”

“No, sir.”

“If he does you’ll let him in right? He can go anywhere in the tower, and you can let him know where I am if he asks right?”

“Yes sir, the Parker Protocol has already been established, just as you made the request shortly after Mr. Parker left.”

“Oh. Okay, I was just checking.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Tony let out a long, defeated sigh.

“No. That’s all. Thanks Jarvis.”

“It is no problem, sir,” the A.I. said and then it went silent.

Tony logged onto his computer and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter without Peter :( 
> 
> I'm feeling some more Bruce in the next chapter though, so maybe that will be fun.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, T, have you, you know, stopped to consider in all of this that perhaps Peter deserves better than your sorry ass?”
> 
> “What on earth are you talking about, I’m Tony Stark,” Tony insisted.

Tony was laying on the floor of his office, sprawled out on his back under his desk.

He was staring up at the underside of it, reading and rereading the little manufacturers stickers, while heavy metal blared so loud he couldn’t think of anything else but the lyrics—

_Cause you could be mine…_

Then suddenly movement appeared in his peripheral vision and Tony sat bolt upright, ramming his head right into the desk.

“Fucking hell!” he shouted, although he could barely here his own voice over Axel Rose. He made a second attempt at sitting up, curling in on himself a bit and rubbing his head when suddenly someone dropped down in a crouch in front of him.

“Turn off the music!” Bruce mouthed, although he could have been saying, even screaming, the words out loud, Tony hardly had any idea.

Tony sighed, and slumped down a bit more at the sight of his old friend. He reached for the remote that had been lying on the floor beside him and paused the music. He’d told Jarvis not to disturb him and turned the music up so loud that the A.I. wouldn’t be able to hear him, so he’d prepared a slightly more old-school command system for shutting the music off.

“Holy shit, Tony,” Bruce said as the room went quiet. “Guns N’ Roses, Tony, really?”

“I am a child a the 80’s,” Tony defended, “As are you.”

“But it would seem I’ve tried a bit harder to leave that era’s misogyny behind,” Bruce said.

“Oh, fuck off, it’s nostalgic.” Tony snapped, not exactly feeling in the best of most patient of moods after listing to the aggressive music for hours upon hours.

Bruce sighed.

“What are you even doing?”

“Angst,” Tony said, pushing himself from out under the desk and standing up. “Obviously.”

“Why?”

Tony opened his mouth and then shut it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked instead, deciding to ignore the question.

“Pepper called and asked me if I could take over today's food delivery, since she’s a bit busy doing all the work you’ve refused to do,” Bruce said, holding up a Sweetgreen bag. Tony grimaced. You’d think Pepper would be the one to try and shove vegetables down Tony’s throat, but she’d given up pushing any kind of balanced diet on Tony years ago, often settling for him eating at all.

Bruce though of course would have the audacity to show up with a salad. Tony tended to keep his physique by every few months having a phase where he lived off protein shakes and spent several hours a day in the gym. Then he'd spend several months after that letting himself grow soft again and not giving a fuck about anything health adjacent. And right now he was definitely not in a health phase. 

Although maybe that would be a more productive alternative than lying on the floor. 

“I got her the final prototype, I presented to the board, what else do you all want from me?” Tony said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

And he had. He’d done exactly what he’d said. For a week he’d worked nearly non-stop. He finished the A.I. and put together his presentation for the board. Then he’d even successfully managed to shower and put on a suit and give his presentation and get everything approved and ready to go into production.

But then everything was finished, including an announcement that the Stark Foundation had donated 50 million dollars to various organizations devoted to the protection of whales and other marine life.

And yet the only person to stop by his apartment until Bruce today was Pepper.

And those two things were entirely unrelated. Because of course they were.

But Tony didn’t know what to do anymore.

“A little more emotional investment in your job, I guess,” Bruce shrugged and set the bag he was holding down on the desk, taking two bowls of salad out and setting them on the worktop. “Come eat your food,” Bruce offered, pushing a wheeled office chair in Tony’s direction and moving to grab a spare for himself.

“I don’t care about my job, and I certainly don’t care about fucking salad,” Tony protested with the petulance of a toddler while collapsing down into his chair in a huff.

“Oh?” Bruce asked.

Tony said nothing.

Bruce sighed.

“Don’t tell me you’re still caught up on that college guy,” Bruce said finally.

“I’m not particularly interested in telling you anything.”

“Tony,” Bruce said, saying nothing else but offering a firm, skeptical glance.

“I’m not caught up in anyone,” Tony defended. “You’re making it sound like I’m a teenager with a crush.”

“That’s exactly what it seems like. Unless you’re trying to reclaim angst back from teenagers.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing. Life is hard, the expectation that we all grow up just creates dysfunction.”

“So that’s your excuse for throwing a tantrum because a twenty-one-year-old won’t sleep with you? That we’re actually all still teenagers? So what, that must mean is that in this case the college junior you pulled out of a trash heap is actually the mature one,” Bruce rolled his eyes. “Oh no, wait, don’t tell me—he’s actually the one taking advantage of you!”

“I’m not upset that Peter won’t sleep with me,” Tony defended. “This has nothing _at all_ to do with him sleeping with me! I also have no idea if he'd sleep with me, it never even came up, believe it or not!”

“So you’re saying you don’t have some kind of massive crush on him? That you’ve been pining for him ever since he left.”

Tony said nothing. At first because hearing it to starkly in those terms felt like a punch to the stomach. And then second in an attempt to cover up his shock with stubbornness.

 “Tony, he’s twenty-one,” Bruce said matter-of-factly.

“And?”

Bruce closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath.

“Okay, fine, we’ll set that aside just to humor you. Despite your best attempts otherwise, you in fact _are_ a grown human being, do you really think this level of fixation is healthy? Even if he wasn’t more than a decade younger, even if there aren’t inevitably some wild power imbalances going on there, this level of fixation cannot be healthy. You have to be projecting some kind of internalized shit or something onto him. This level of fixation on someone you barely know wouldn't be healthy no matter who the two of you were.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you’d gone out and gotten a degree in psychology since the last time I’d seen you, excuse me.”

Bruce rolled his eyes.

“I am still a medical doctor, Tony,” Bruce said, “I’m not offering to give you a therapy session, more like making a referral.”

“I don’t need a referral. I’m already in therapy.”

And he was, after a stint of drug abuse ending in over dose in his early-twenties ended up with him in rehab, he’d continued to go on and off for the years to follow. Between his daddy issues and grief for dead parents and drug and alcohol abuse and other inappropriate coping mechanisms, not to mention his sleep issues and food issues and just general life issues, he had never run out of things to talk about.

“Yeah, and when’s the last time you went?”

Tony couldn’t remember and so he said nothing. He'd been busy recently. With, well he couldn't quite remember what anymore. The A.I. probably, his robot suit as well. Peter for a brief and recent blip. Other things, probably. He'd been drinking a lot. 

Fuck.

“Okay, how about we set up a plan,” Bruce said.

“Okay, now it definitely seems like you’re trying to counsel me.”

“I’m trying to be a friend Tony,” Bruce said, his voice somber in a way that made Tony soften. “And I’m just trying to be proactive. Because I don’t know, maybe this is just the beginning of some lifelong journey you’ll go on with this Peter. But right now, this lying around and being sad that some troubled young man you spent two days with isn’t going out of his way to come back to the penthouse of frankly one of the most powerful man in the world and drop to his knees and offer his body up to you is you know, clearly not working and if it did I’d be super concerned for the both of you.”

“I’m not—this isn’t about sex for the hundredth time!”

“Then what is it about? Because I know you Tony—and the media may get a lot of things wrong about you, but something it gets right is that you have only ever really cared about three things—your tech, money, and sex. The order varies depending on the day, but it’s always been those three things that beat out everything else.”

Tony sighed. Unfortunately, Bruce wasn't exactly wrong. Tony did, historically, only like those things. 

“I—I don’t know. He’s—he’s—I can’t describe it," Tony stumbled, feeling a bit defeated.

Bruce smiled sympathetically.

“And some therapy will definitely help you then to figure out exactly what these feelings are, you know," he said, offering Tony a pat on the back.

Tony groaned.

“Or,” Tony said, drawing the word out, “We could instead go track him down. Just to check on him.”

“Tony,” Bruce said warningly. “How would you even know where to find him? Don’t tell me you’ve put a tracker on him?”

“No! Of course not,” Tony said. “But there has to be—wait! He mentioned last week a specific class he was taking that afternoon after he left—something about sexuality and the media. I bet I can have Jarvis find it in the Queens College course catalog. And then we can—or I can, just swing by you know. Meet him outside afterwards. Or not even meet him.”

“What, just spy on him?”

“Maybe.”

“Tony, you can hear yourself, right? You can tell that you’re being ridiculous?”

“But,” Tony said, a bit more meekly this time. “I need to return his clothes to him.”

“Tony, please. I am begging you. Be rational.”

“But I—” Tony protested.

“Please just eat your damn salad Tony and stop acting like a fourteen-year-old.”

“But—”

“Tony!”

“Fine,” Tony said, popping off the top of his salad and aggressively stabbing into it and beginning to eat.

“See, now don’t you feel more level headed? Leveling out your blood sugar, bringing some energy into your body and to that big head of yours.”

“Mm-hmm, something like that,” Tony said, turning to look at Bruce to chew with his mouth open, mashing his teeth together and rolling the food around in his mouth.

Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Hey, T, have you, you know, stopped to consider in all of this that perhaps Peter deserves better than your sorry ass?”

“What on earth are you talking about, I’m Tony Stark,” Tony insisted, his mouth still full, the food garbling his speech.

But of course, he had, as hours and days had ticked by and he’d not heard a thing from the younger man. Because he may be Tony Stark, but he’d also evidently been rejected. And Bruce could talk about power imbalances all he wanted, but when it came to Peter, Tony didn’t feel very powerful at all.

In fact, for Peter, Tony had never felt weaker.

Fuck, maybe he did need to give his therapist a call after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so fun thing about life is that things happen and people grow and change and shit and well. And it's good. But it's change. That's all I have to say really. But here's a new chapter, I guess.
> 
> In other news, happy fall. I bought a vanilla pumpkin candle today that smells like a chai latte.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know,” Tony ran his fingers through his hair and sighed roughly. “I just—why can’t I have fucking feelings for someone, I guess. What, do you turn thirty and all your emotions become inappropriate?”
> 
> “Do you think all your emotions are inappropriate?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter, with an introduction of a new character, plus the return of someone very special (I can pretend to be mysterious, but really, there are only five characters in this fic so far, including JARVIS.)

Tony sighed as he walked down the steps of the building. He felt completely exhausted.

_“Do you think that Bruce is right, then, that this fixation is unhealthy?”_

_“That’s what I’m asking you, doc,” Tony said._

_“I’d like to hear your thoughts first.”_

_Tony groaned._

_“I don’t know,” Tony ran his fingers through his hair and sighed roughly. “I just—why can’t I have fucking feelings for someone, I guess. What, do you turn thirty and all your emotions become inappropriate?”_

_“Do you think all your emotions are inappropriate?”_

Tony sighed again, taking to the sidewalk and wandering aimlessly, looking for a coffee shop. He needed a pick-me-up—although he had a sinking feeling that coffee wasn’t going to do it for him. Even multiple shots of espresso.

_“People have always seemed to think I’m a bit… dramatic,” Tony admitted honestly. “That does not mean I’m a sexual predator though, like everyone seems to keep implying,” Tony said forcefully. “If I were a sexual predator, I could have—well I had plenty of opportunity with Peter. And I mean, if I were dating a twenty-three-year-old woman, no one would even bat an eye, probably, what’s two year difference? And it’s not like I met Peter when he was underaged and was just waiting for him to become legal or something.”_

_“You seem to be making a lot of excuses.”_

_Tony groaned._

_“They aren’t excuses!”_

Tony made his way into a coffee shop, the bell jingling over the door. If was a Saturday morning and the line was unfortunately long, the East Village growing more and more bustling as the sun began to shine on a warm spring morning.

He parked himself in line and took out his phone to check messages, trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

He knew it was bad when he opened his work email.

_“Tony, I think the heart of this issue is not ultimately Peter’s age, although that may or may not play into it. It’s that in two days your life became absorbed by him. Peter has come to represent something to you much larger than he could possibly be.”_

_“What, is this the part where we come to some realization that because my early twenties were lost to my troubled youth and a fair amount of cocaine I’m desperately trying to use Peter to relive those lost years.”_

_“Well, could you be?”_

_Tony shut his eyes and drew in a slow, careful breath._

_It didn’t work and in a second, they snapped open again and her leaned forward, slapping his hands palms down on the coffee table between them._

_“Why can’t I have him anyway?” he snapped. “Why is it whenever I come to therapy it’s always been about what thing that makes me happy I have to give up?”_

_Silence._

“What can I get for you, man?” the young man at the register asked as Tony finally made it to the front of the line.

“Large cappuccino, thanks,” Tony said passively, distracted by the pastries in the nearby display case, “And uh, one of those chocolate croissant things.”

“Sure thing,” the cashier smiled, and Tony handed him a card, signing for the purchase and grabbing the bag the cashier handed him with the croissant before wandering down to the other end of the shop to wait for his order.

_“I’ve given up the drugs,” Tony said. “I let Pepper and Jarvis mother me into eating and sleeping. I haven’t been to a real party—not a benefit or a reception, but a real goddamn party— in years now. I’ll stop drinking, if that’s what you fucking want. It doesn’t matter. But this I-am-too-broken-to-be-worthy-of-love, to have a relationship without hurting people thing is bullshit.”_

_“Do you think that’s what I’m saying?”_

_“It’s the theme, isn’t it? What everyone says. I’m a playboy, I’m good for sex, I’m good for magical, ridiculous, thousand-dollar dates. But I’m not good for relationships. I’m too narcissistic. Too much of an asshole. Not even the money is worth putting up with me. When I was younger, you know, there were people that wanted to love me, and I pushed them away, but now—now it’s the other way around. People don’t think I’m capable of that.”_

_“And Peter?” the therapist asked._

_“Peter,” Tony sighed. “He’s from a different world. And he knows me, he knows what the media thinks of me so well, but he didn’t seem to have the judgements in the same way. He was mad at me that I’d never had a public relationship with a man, for Christ sake, but what he doesn’t know though is I haven’t had a relationship that lasted more than three months with anyone, ever.”_

“Tony!”

His name was called, and Tony went over to grab his coffee.

“Hey,” someone said from behind him, and Tony spun around to see a young woman. “Sorry to bother you, but you wouldn’t happen to be Tony Stark?”

Tony considered denying it, brushing it off as a “Ha ha, sorry, I get that all the time though!” Add a smile and a quip about whether it would help if he shaved his face or changed his hair and the woman would move on none-the-wiser.

But for some reason he said nothing and smiled.

“Oh my gosh, I normally don’t bother people, but I just wanted to let you know that I heard about the money your foundation has donated to marine life preservation, and I just wanted to thank you. I’m studying Marine Biology at Empire State, and it’s just. It’s amazing.”

Tony kept smiling, although his face felt tight and tired.

“It’s no problem really. Whatever I can do to help,” he said.

_“But what if someone else liked you? What if Peter was not the first and only real candidate?” the therapist asked. “What if I told you that you could go out in the world and find hundreds of people willing to have long term relationships with you,” Tony opened his mouth, but his therapist cut him off, “Who aren’t even just after your money?”_

_Tony shut his mouth and thought for a second, but the words came pouring out once again the second he opened his mouth._

_“I—it’s not even like that, okay. I think we have the… chemistry, for a relationship like that. I think if we spend enough time together, something will happen. But if it doesn’t, then it doesn’t matter. But I it’s not even just about sexual and romantic relationships.”_

_“It isn’t?”_

With a few more seconds of pleasant exchange, Tony managed to free himself from the conversation with the future marine biologist and quickly made his way to the front of the shop, ready to get out of there and get home and go back to mourning.

Therapy had been helpful, maybe in getting himself to stop fixating on Peter like some sort of angel come to save him. It had, however, unfortunately not eased the pain though, as Tony was now only all too aware that he had so many other things about the state of his life to fret over and mourn.

_“I don’t, I don’t have a lot of people I’m close too. I don’t make new friends easily. I have Pepper, but if I stopped paying her she’d probably give up on me after not too long. And I have Bruce, but Bruce has always been the kind of person that is only willing to give so much before he leaves a person to get their own shit together. I haven’t seen Rhodey since I’ve moved away from defense to bring Stark technologies to commercial avalibility. But then here comes Peter, and for the first time in years, I’m talking to someone for hours, about everything and anything. And to want to hold onto that relationship—is that really such a bad thing?”_

_For a few moments, there was silence, and Tony sat there on the couch suddenly wanting a little bit to disappear, or run a thousand miles, or summon his robotic suit and fly away, rather than sit there while his therapist quietly took notes._

_Finally, after what might as well have been ages, his therapist spoke._

_“I don’t, for the record, Tony, think that every relationship you have is destined to be destructive and co-dependent and eventually abusive. I don’t think that if organically or even with a bit of pushing you form some kind of relationship with Peter in time, whether that’s romantically, or just friendship or mentorship, it’s definitely going to be a bad idea. But what I do think you need isn’t Peter,” his therapist said. Tony instantly opened his mouth to argue, but he realized he had nothing to say and his therapist seemed to have no interest in giving him time to form an argument._

_“You need to live your life, Tony. A life that’s more than work. You need to have a social life that is more than drinking yourself out of work-related social obligations, you need to see friends at times that aren’t just when they’re coming over to make sure you haven’t worked yourself to death. You need to get to a place where having a conversation with someone is so desperately needed that you immediately decide you’ve fallen in love with someone just because you weren’t miserable in their company.”_

Tony took out his phone again as he pushed open the door, meaning to send a text to his driver to let him know to come pick him up.

It was then he crashed into someone.

_“So what, you’re telling me to get a hobby?”_

_“No, you have hobbies, I’m more like telling you to join a club.”_

_“Oh, great, so I’ll just go to the nearest library and see if they’re interested in having Tony Stark read_ Fifty Shades of Grey _with them.”_

 _“I think the book club circuit has probably moved past_ Fifty Shades of Grey _, Tony. But yes. Sure. Join a book club. Or I don’t know, you’re apparently very interested in marine life, why don’t you visit some of the organizations you gave some money to and volunteer. Or figure out a way to bring more people into a hobby you do in solitude, if that works. Go crush a BattleBots tournament or something.”_

_“Are BattleBots still a thing?”_

_“I don’t know Tony,” his therapist sighed. “But I bet you could go find out. But the point is, then, once you’re out in the world, living your life, if you decide you want to share it with someone else, whoever that person is, then maybe you can do so. But as nice as I’m sure your home is, Tony, most people, at least in the early stages of dating, expect dates to occur outside of it.”_

“Shit!” Tony cursed as he raised up his coffee, trying not to spill it all over himself or the person he’d just crashed into. “Look, I’m sorry,” Tony began to apologize, “I’ve been having a rough morning and,” Tony said, but stopped immediately when he looked up and found himself standing face to face with Peter.

“Oh,” Peter gasped, his eyes wide, “Uh, hi, Mr. Stark.”

For a second, all Tony could do is stare at the other man, blinking as if each time he closed and reopened his eyes he expected Peter to have disappeared.

“Um, excuse us,” someone said, “And Tony realized they were completely blocking the coffee shops door, and an older woman with a small dog in her purse was standing behind Peter, trying to slide past him.

Then he noticed the woman, probably around Tony’s age, standing behind Peter in the doorway and suddenly he found himself sliding into his charismatic-charming-professional mode.

“Here, why don’t we get out of the way and we can chat with your friend, Peter,” the woman said, giving Peter a look that Tony didn’t know how to interpret but did not feel at all relaxed by.

 “Oh, of course!” Tony said, a bit too enthusiastically as he followed the woman and Peter out of the doorway and onto the sidewalk in front of the shop. “What a surprise to see you here!” Tony said once they were all settled, Tony and Peter standing across from each other, the woman right at Peter’s side. “What brings you to the East Village?”

Peter looked down at his shoes nervously before looking back up at Tony, not quite meeting his gaze.

“Um, the rest of my school acceptance and financial aid packages came in the mail last week. And well, most schools didn’t give me much besides a bunch of loans, but uh, Empire State gave me a partial scholarship, like half a years tuition, guaranteed for my final two years. So as long as I still live at home and keep working my part-time jobs and work full time over breaks, I’ll probably only graduate with like $20,000 in loans which is really pretty good now-a-days and so I’m probably going to go there because they have a great engineering program and today is their accepted students day, so we took a tour and….” Peter drifted off, seeming to suddenly become aware he was rambling.

The woman smiled fondly at Peter, turning to reach up and gently smooth Peter’s hair.

“He’s going to work himself into the ground though,” she tutted. “With an hour commute each way, plus his school work, plus his jobs. You’re already rarely home as it is,” the woman said, shaking her head. Peter squished up his face in a kind of pained sympathy. “Sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m May Parker, Peter’s aunt.”

“Tony Stark,” Tony said, offering May a hand. She took it with a smile, but there was a slightly suspicious look in her eyes Tony did not miss.

“Oh right!” she said a bit too pleasantly. “Peter told me what you did for him, thanks for watching out for him. I know how stubborn he can be, and he has such a knack for finding trouble. Like how he insists on continuing to live with me even though he’s all grown up now and going to a big fancy school and needs his space,” May scolded, reaching out to pinch Peter’s cheek.

Tony wanted to re-evaluate everything he’d said about not being a sexual predator in the face of realizing that Peter’s legal guardian was apparently roughly the same age as him. Because while he was only barely technically old enough to be Peter’s father, the idea that he could very well be dating his aunt, that that might even be more appropriate, made Tony feel a little ill.

And May’s slightly judgmental, piercing glare seemed more than justified.

“For the last time, May, please I don’t want to move out. It’s fine, I’ll make it work,” Peter said.

“But if I trade out our two-bedroom for a one-bedroom or studio, we’ll have a bit extra money for you to get a room somewhere closer.”

“No, it’s fine really, May. Really. I’ll just do homework on the train. I’ll make it work.”

This is the part where if Tony hadn’t been to therapy that morning, and if Peter’s aunt weren’t standing right there, reminding Tony that he was definitely a massive creep, Tony would have told Peter he was welcome to stay over at his place any time. Hell, he would have offered to buy him an apartment on the same block the engineering colleges buildings were.

But thankfully, he did no such thing.

“That’s great Pete, I’m glad you’ve found something that works for you. You deserve a great education.”

Peter did nothing but shrug modestly and they fell into silence.

“So, I guess I better let you two get back to your day,” Tony said, after the silence got too painful.

“Um, wait,” Peter said. “Do you think we could talk for a minute?”

“Oh, sure,” Tony said, his eyes widening and his heart beating a bit quicker.

“Why don’t I go in and order, and you can catch up Peter?” May suggested, and Peter nodded and smiled as she made her way into the coffee shop, shooting Peter a worried glance and Tony a warning one before she left.

“So,” Peter said, once she was gone.

“So,” Tony parroted.

“I’m sorry, about never giving you back your jacket.”

“I don’t really care about the jacket, Pete.”

“I know,” he said, “But I still should have…” Peter’s voice drifted off.

“But you didn’t,” Tony said, matter-of-factly.

“You didn’t take up that courier job, to return my clothes, either.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Right,” Peter said, taking a deep breath. “So I guess we’re even, then,”  he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

Tony sighed.

_“So your saying I should have asked him out? That by asking him to come back to my apartment that was the inappropriate power move?” Tony proclaimed after a moment’s thought._

_“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Tony’s therapist said quickly. “I thought we were working on you not turning entire sessions into reductive take-aways?”_

_“Were we?” Tony said. “I must have forgotten, I haven’t seen you in so long.”_

_“Tony.”_

“Peter, I’ve thought a lot about—” Tony started, but Peter cut him off.

“But I guess we’ll never be equal, will we, since I apparently owe you a 50-million-dollar gesture?” Peter said with a bit of bite to his tone. Tony’s heart dropped into his stomach. Fuck, that was too much, wasn’t it?

But then Peter smiled, and Tony’s own face lit up at the sight.

“Oh, you think—you think I saved the whales for you, do you?” Tony teased.

“You really aren’t very subtle.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I was thinking, maybe if you wanted to sometime, we could go to the aquarium, my treat. Get you a bit more educated on all the marine life you’re suddenly devoting your hard-earned money to.”

“Oh, baby, you seem to know better than anyone that my money is hardly hard-earned,” Tony smirked.

“Well then, maybe after the aquarium we can go to the zoo and I can talk you into putting money towards protecting other animals too. You know, poaching is still pretty bad. Many elephant species are reaching a pretty critical level of endangerment because of the ivory trade. And animals killed in big game hunting like lions aren’t doing too hot either.”

“Oh? Really?” Tony said slyly and pushed his therapy session from his mind.

“Yeah,” Peter smiled. “But you have to promise me something, okay?”

“What?”

“We can’t talk about us.”

“What?”

“I’m making a new rule,” Peter said. “We can’t talk about us.”

“But—”

“Nope, that’s the condition.”

“You’re putting conditions on you conning me into giving away millions of dollars?”

Peter nodded.

“Take it or leave it.”

 _Oh, God, this could not be healthy_ , Tony found himself thinking.

But then Peter reached out and grabbed Tony’s hand in his, stroking his thumb over the back of Tony’s palm.

 _Oh, fuck it, I can work it out in therapy next week,_ Tony thought _._ Hell, maybe if given enough time he could get Peter to come along to a session.

“Okay,” Tony said. “Okay. But I have a condition too—do you want to build a BattleBot with me?”

Peter looked confused, and then horrified.

“That’s not what you’ve decided to call that suit of yours is it? Because that’s an awful superhero name!”

Tony laughed.

“No, BattleBots— like fighting robots? Surely you—they were popular in the early 2000’s?”

“You mean, other people have been building giant robots in their basements for decades. Wow, and here I thought you were an eccentric.”

Tony dragged his hand down his face.

“No—I, they usually aren’t that big and—” he started but then gave up and sighed in defeat. He’d have to find another way to appease his therapist for his sins. “Do you want to help me work on my robot suit?”

Peter grinned, but then a thought seemed to cross his mind and his smile faltered, and he offered Tony a meek half smile instead.

“I had some ideas of my own that I think you might be able to help me with, actually.”

“Oh?” Tony asked, genuinely curious.

“Could I come over tonight?”

 _And so much for asking him physically out for the early stages of our relationship_. God, he just could not win.

“Of course,” Tony said, no will to fight it. “I’ll be in the basement lab waiting, Jarvis knows to let you in.”

Peter’s smile grew.

“Okay,” he said, dropping Tony’s hand. “Well, I should go catch up with May. I’ll see you later?”

“See you later,” Tony confirmed, and with that Peter turned and ran into the coffee shop, and Tony was left standing alone on the sidewalk, his coffee gone cold in his hand, trying to decide whether this was a victory or a defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUNNNNN~
> 
> This honestly wasn't how I was planning on having this go. And don't think we're, well anywhere near the end. But I'm kind of trying to kill some time and Peter and Tony might as well be together for it.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is that so?” Peter asked, eyes narrowing in a challenge and leaning forward just a fraction of an inch but enough that Tony could feel his breath on his face.
> 
> “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some fluff before some plot and a good dose of incredibly made up science before another solid steak of me avoiding having to write technical sounding science stuff as if my life depended on it.

“I got the chemicals you asked for,” Tony announced as he walked into the lab. “You going to tell me what you want to do with them yet?” he asked Peter who was sitting across the lab, hunched over some small electronic contraption that he’d been working on for weeks.

“No, I told you it’s a secret.”

Tony rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know, typically, if I’m going to invest in some research, I usually require very elaborate plans. Presentations. Samples of the research you’ve done so far. Prototypes. And yet, in just a few weeks alone I’ve spent thousands of dollars on your research, and I have no idea what you’re even doing,” Tony quipped as he crossed the lab, making his way over to Peter.

“I’m just doing what you asked me to do,” Peter shrugged, not looking up from his work.

Tony sighed as he leaned over Peter’s shoulder to look down at his contraption, laying a hand to grip around the other man’s shoulder, absent mindedly massaging it gently as he watched Peter work.

“And what is that, exactly?” Tony asked.

“To build BattleBots with you, of course,” Peter said simply, before letting out a frustrated hiss as his little hoop of metal and wires sparked a bit.

“What?” Tony asked. “So you’re telling me that tiny thing you’ve been working on is supposed to compete with my highly weaponized suit?”

“Well, sort of. I don’t actually want to fight against you.”

“Well yeah, because your little bracelet thing would surely be defeated by the Iron Man.”

“Honestly, you might as well just call it a BattleBot, considering that at least might be accurate.” Tony caught Peter roll his eyes as the other man finally turned away from his work to look up at him, raising the goggles he’d been wearing as he did so.

“It’s a man made of metal, what more accuracy could you want? If anything it’s too obvious” Tony defended. “But I think it’s simplicity has the capability to become easily iconic.”

“Your lame-o suit isn’t made of iron though. Actually of all the metals in it, the percentage of iron is probably comparatively the lowest,” Peter teased as he spun around in his chair.

“Actually, he’s currently 14.2 percent iron,” Tony said, leaning down and resting his hands on the arms of Peter’s chair so that his face was level with Peter’s. “The metal that makes up the lowest percentage of my _super cool giant metal evil defeating robot_ _suit_ is actually samarium at 0.07 percent—there is a small samarium-cobalt magnet at the heart of one of the engines reactors,” he said softly, not needing to speak very loud with himself nose to nose with Peter.

“Is that so?” Peter asked, eyes narrowing in a challenge and leaning forward just a fraction of an inch but enough that Tony could feel his breath on his face.

“Yeah.”

Peter rolled his eyes and brought a hand up to Tony’s face, pressing his hand into the side of his it in a sort of slow-motion slap, squishing Tony’s cheek until Tony dramatically turned his head to the side and whimpered as it Peter had actually slapped him.

Peter laughed.

“Go away, I have work to do,” he said. “I have to work later tonight, and I want to finish this. And you have your, well, whatever, thing tonight.” Peter said. “And you say I’m the one keeping secrets.”

Tony smiled and sighed.

“It’s not a secret as so much it’s no boring I want to protect you from the doldrum of it.”

And that was fairly true.

The fact of the matter was that the plans Tony had later that night weren’t so much a secret, as it was that Tony was trying to protect his image.

Because frankly, Tony just couldn’t see how it would at all be helpful to explain to Peter that in an effort to ensure that Tony could have a healthy, long term relationship in the future, potentially with him, that he was doing his damnedest to follow his therapists advice. Meaning he was trying to find a life outside of work and outside of Peter.

Meaning that he had joined a bowling league.

Which of course was not the coolest hobby. And the people that bowled recreationally were not the kind of people that Tony usually hung out with.

But well, Tony hadn’t hung out with anyone really recently, so it’s not like he’d really been maintaining standards, and he was a damned good bowler, and he was made to actually pull off one of those ridiculous shirts.

“I’m a big boy, Tony, I’m sure I could take it,” Peter said, but Tony had made up his mind not to let Peter in on his little secret hobby at least until they had been officially dating for three months.

And since Peter seemed to be keeping them firmly on the bro-who-build-robots-together side of things, and Tony was not allowed to talk about their relationship, it looked like Tony could potentially be secret bowling for a long time.

“Oh, I’m sure you could take a lot of things, _big boy_ ,” Tony said in an effort to distract from the topic at hand, knowing the innuendo was blunt enough Peter would get it, but subtle enough they could both pretend Tony hadn’t really meant it _like that_.

Peter groaned and ducked his head, clearly trying to hide his blush.

“Okay, if I tell you something about my project, will you stop bothering me?”

Tony’s mouth widened into a beaming, open mouth gaping smile.

“Oh will you, Professor Parker? Please share some of your knowledge with the class?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re obnoxious?” Peter asked.

“Oh, nearly every single time I interact with another human being.”

Peter sighed and stood up from his chair. He picked up the little contraption he was working on and brought it over to the labs main worktop, putting it under the magnifying camera and quickly calling up the feed to a nearby monitor with the wireless keyboard.

“So, what I’m hoping to do is have this _bracelet_ as you call it be able to manipulate and instruct nanotechnology.

“Huh?”

“So, theoretically, if I had a material made out of programmable nanoparticles, this device would be able to program them.”

“Okay, but how do I know you didn’t just weld together some wires and are just making shit up because you’re delusional?”

Peter sighed.

“I guess you don’t,” he shrugged.

“You mean, you can’t make it do _anything_ yet?”

“I guess I could run a simulation with a similar material, but I don’t have the right formula yet for the material,” Peter paused to think. “Do you have something like a ferrofluid around? Something liquid but with magnet properties or magnetic particles suspended in it?”

“Um,” Tony said, “Jarvis?”

“In the cabinet over here, sir,” Jarvis said, lighting the way by flashing the ceiling lights in succession over to a cabinet along the wall across the lab.

“One sec,” Tony said, walking across the room and rifling through the cabinet before returning, a small bottle in hand. “Here you go,” Tony said.

Peter reached out for a small tray that was nearby, currently holding some bolts. He dumped it out and then poured in the liquid. Then he set the bracelet down in the liquid.

“Wow, waterproof, eh?”

“What? Of course,” Peter shook his head, clearly distracted. Instead he continued copying some information off the and inputting it into the computer. “Here, watch this,” Peter said, pressing a few more keys on the keyboard. Then suddenly, the liquid shot up out of the tray, forming a fountain of sorts maybe six feet tall. Only it wasn’t a fountain more like a tower, because although it was a moments ago a liquid, it went up but it didn’t come back down, instead forming a solid structure.

Tony’s eyes widened.

“How are you doing that?” Tony asked excitedly.

“Well, ideally the material I ultimately design will be both stronger and more malleable than this, and will be controlled by my specially designed nanoparticular material, not magnets, but I can easily reprogram the software to manipulate the magnets instead or nanoparticles—actually the magnets are obviously easier to arrange.”

“How? I mean, nanoparticles like what you’d alluding to seem to be a lot more complicated than ferrofluid, harder to control,” Tony asked watching as the magnetic stream began to arrange itself into patterns, forming geometric sculptures.

“Oh, well, you’re right, unfortunately for me. But since it works by kind of having a commander particle that leads all the rest, in this case the operations system is similar, it’s just the code will have to be able a thousand times more advanced. You can obviously instruct magnets super easily in this way because you take one and then just built on it using, you know, polarity. Obviously, the nanoparticles in my formula will be instructed to knit together in a different way, and I’m still working on the how there. I’ve got a lot more research to do,” Peter shrugged nonchalantly.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “Magnets just aren’t strong enough at this size, and they are too easily subject to demagnification or frankly just stronger magnets to be used for my purposes,” Peter sighed, reaching out to slice a hand straight through the tower of magnetic fluid, instantly causing all the fluid above his hand to fall, splashing down to the table as it lost contact with it’s commander.

For a good minute, Tony was speechless. He also had a bit of ferrofluid on his shoes, but that hardly seemed relevant.

Then all he could do is shake his head.

“Oh my god, the world must be full of idiots,” he finally managed to say out loud.

“What?”

“Well that’s the only reason I can possibly imagine for why you can barely get a partial scholarship, when universities should be paying you to be an alumnus. Hell, giving you an honorary degree.”

“Not this again.”

“God Pete, just go to Columbia, live on campus, rack up a quarter of a million dollars in loans, because you’re going to be a millionaire by the time you graduate if I have anything to do with it.”

“I actually like the engineering program at Empire a lot,” Peter said defensively. “And I don’t, well, I mean, I’ve never exactly had a lab like this to work in, or a reason to show anyone else the stuff I fiddle around with or the books I read.”

Tony sighed and wiped his hand down his face.

“It’s about networking and putting yourself out there, darling,” Tony groaned. “If you’re reading up some obscure theory or fiddling around with advanced technology, go into your professors office hours and be like, ‘Hey, I’m doing this thing, have any advice?’ You don’t have to just quietly get perfect scores in your degree coursework and act like that’s nothing and some kind of fluke. And you can’t fucking wait to be fished out of a trash heap by one of the smartest men in the world to be recognized and supported, okay?”

Peter blushed and ducked his head, not looking at all convinced.

“No, no, no, that’s not gonna work for me baby,” Tony said, reaching out to hook a finger under Peter’s chin to tilt up the other man’s head. “I want you to admit that in the future you’re going to take advantage of the education you’re paying way more than you should be for.”

“I am going to take advantage of my education!” Peter protested. “I mean, I already am! I do really well in my classes and I’m going to get a degree.”

“Nope, that’s not going to work,” Tony shook his head, dropping his hand from Peter’s chin and instead raising it like he was about to take an oath. “Here, repeat after me: I Peter Parker…”

Peter sighed.

“I Peter Parker…”

“Raise your hand,” Tony scolded. “Come on Pete, this ain’t that hard.”

Peter sighed again and raised his hand.

“I Peter Parker…” he repeated.

“Am going to try my absolute fucking hardest…”

“Am going to try my hardest...”

“Pete,” Tony said warningly.

Peter drew in a deep breath.

“Am going to try my absolute fucking hardest…”

“There we go!” Tony whooped. “Alright—to be the biggest fucking show off…”

“To be the biggest fucking show off…” Peter said, still not at all matching Tony’s level of enthusiasm, but now clearly trying hard to suppress an amused and slightly embarrassed grin.

“That Empire State University has ever seen…”

“That Empire State University has ever seen…”

“Because my big ass brain deserves to be worshipped by the mere mortals who surround me.”

Peter stopped to stare at Tony with tired looking eyes.

“Tony, come on,” he protested.

“Say it, Pete.”

Peter sighed.

“Because my big ass brain deserved to be worshipped by the mere mortals who surround me.”

“Yeah, baby, there we go!” Tony cheered loudly, his voice echoing in the large concrete cavern of his basement lab and offering Peter a slap on the back.

Peter ducked his head modestly but was smiling meekly.

“Now don’t you feel better?”

“I feel like I’m going to be late for work _and_ I didn’t get to finish what I was working on,” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Well then, I guess you’ll just have to come back again later.”

“Yeah, I will, although maybe I’ll drop by when you’re not around, so I can actually get some work done.”

“You mean, you’re really just using me for my lab?”

Peter said nothing and shrugged, his face expressing not a fraction of remorse.

“Oh, you little brat,” Tony said, reaching around to put Peter into a headlock.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, trying to twist away from Tony but only ending up tripping over Tony’s feet and tumbling to the floor, dragging Tony down with him.

“Fuck, are you alright?” Tony asked, pulling his arm out from under Peter and rolling over to get a better look at him.

He found Peter lying on his side, staring straight back at him.

“You do know I’m not using you, right?” Peter said seriously.

Tony furrowed his brow. It had obviously been a joke, and it had seemed until just now that they were both in on it.

“Yeah, of course, Pete. Of course,” Tony reassured instantly. “If anything, I’m using you.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Well,” Tony said, “You’re a smart young thing, about to take on the world, and here I am, hoarding you in my dungeon like a dragon hoarding his treasure, just trying to get a glimpse of something so precious.”

“I’m the one hoarding you! I’m the kid who rather hide out in a lab so far under ground you have to pump oxygen in! You’re Tony Stark, the man who invented giving no fucks. I’m Peter Parker the coward,” Peter announced, rolling over onto his back to look up at the ceiling.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Tony asked.

For a long moment, Peter didn’t say anything.

“Peter?” Tony asked.

“I’m going to be late for work,” Peter murmured, rolling over and pushing himself up from the floor. “And you’re going to be late for your secret thing.”

“Peter,” Tony began, but then stopped himself. He knew that pushing right now would not get them anywhere. “You’ll come back tomorrow after your class?”

“I’m covering a shift for someone at work tomorrow, maybe Wednesday morning?”

“I have a meeting I definitely won’t be able to get out of at 9:00 AM, but hopefully it shouldn’t take too long,” Tony said. “Come over whenever and I’ll meet you afterwards. Get some work done in peace before I distract you.”

“Yeah, alright,” Peter smiled and made his way over to the elevator, “See you!” he called out as he stepped in.

“By Pete,” Tony called in response as the doors slid shut.

Once Peter was gone, Tony slumped down into his chair and let out a groan. Everyday a new enigma.

Tony could only sigh.

Then after a few minutes of feeling helpless and confused, Tony pulled himself up from his chair and made his way over to the elevator himself.

He had some pins to go knock down while wearing the worlds tackiest outfit after all.

Oh, the things he’d do for Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And up next I swear to god there will actually be something kind of vaguely maybe almost resembling drama! and plot!
> 
> Or okay more realistically a lot of dialogue yet again but this time with reference to past violence and trauma.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony did not find Peter’s ability to joke as a sign he maybe wasn’t in too dire condition, because if Tony knew anything, it’s that Peter would evade and minimize himself to death with ease.
> 
> If anything, that was Peter Parker's real life super power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters ahead!

“Oh yeah baby!” Tony shouted as the ball rolled down the center of the lane, striking the pins just off center and taking all of them down. “What is that, Rogers?” Tony shouted, turning around to face a man who was standing by the ball return. “Huh? Huh? It was a strike!” Tony punched the air and Roger’s just shook his head.

“There are still two frames left, Stark, I wouldn’t count on anything,” the other man said with an irritatingly confident smile as he grabbed a ball and made his way over to the lane.

“Nuh-uh, I’m just gonna be counting the number of pins I knock down. Because you’re right—with two more frames I’ve got time for a turkey.”

“We’ll see about that,” Rogers said as he took position.

“Gobble gobble motherfucker,” Tony taunted as Rogers bowled. Irritatingly (for Tony), he also bowled a strike.

“Do you have to be so obscene?” Rogers asked as he made his way back to the ball return.

Tony just grinned, making to grab his ball when his phone started to vibrate in his pocket.

Tony paused and checked the phone, planning to ignore the call and stick it right back in his pocket before bowling his way to victory, but he froze when he saw the call was from Peter.

Peter didn’t call a lot. Texted, sometimes, but almost never called. For all his interest in technology, Peter didn’t seem to be very into cell phones—he often seemed to forget he had one. In fact, it was Tony who had finally remembered to even ask for his number weeks into their post-coffee shop meet up.

Peter, on the other hand, had confessed that he had a habit of losing or breaking phones though, meaning Tony often spotted him with various different models of last decades hottest trends—flip phones, sliders, occasionally an off-brand, thick plastic smart phone that seemed to be named ironically because they would slow to a standstill and crash if you opened too many apps and browsers at a time.

And god did it make Tony want to buy or design the other man an indestructible smart phone with a fool proof find my phone app. But Tony’s therapist had suggested that Tony stop buying things for Peter, or even just offering before Peter turned him down, that he didn’t ask for.

And of course, Peter continued to not want anything from Tony, which Tony found impossibly frustrating. The only thing Peter let Tony buy him was materials and equipment for the still mostly secret “battlebots” project that he was working on. And of course, inventing cutting edge technology wasn’t cheap and Tony had spent thousands of dollars on the project. But even still, half the time younger man came into the lab carrying bags of junkyard parts, scrap metal, old computer parts, household chemicals, and just plain garbage and insisted that he was going to reuse what he could before having Tony drop money on ordering a custom transistor when Peter could just make one himself.

“One sec, Steve, I have to take this,” Tony said, “Don’t bowl my turn and throw it into the gutter.”

“As if I would ever cheat when I’m perfectly capable of winning fair and square,” Steve called out as Tony walked away from the lanes, leaning up against the end of the rental counter to accept the call.

“Hey Pete, what’s up?” Tony asked.

The line was silent.

“Peter?” Tony repeated.

“Tony?” the voice on the other end of the line was quiet and Tony’s heart immediately dropped into his stomach.

“Peter, what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Peter said quickly. “I just wanted to know if maybe you could come pick me up?”

“Where are you?” Tony asked without a second thought.

More silence.

“Peter, where are you?” Tony repeated, panic in his voice now.

“I don’t really know, I—uh wasn’t paying attention?” Peter finally responded meekly. “I was in Ridgewood, but I may be in Bushwick now?”

Tony sighed. What did he mean he, “Wasn’t paying attention?”

At least that probably wasn’t too far away, Tony realized and relaxed just slightly.

Tony himself was in Brooklyn, another recommendation of his therapist to get outside of his comfort zone and meet people outside of his usual circle in any and all ways possible. Which of course meant not only taking up fucking bowling, but doing it in Brooklyn, instead of, perhaps, just building an alley in his building and continuing to not ever leave his house for weeks on end as had been the trend more recently.

“I thought you were working tonight!” Tony asked, trying o just figure out what exactly was going on. “Did you have to make a delivery or something?”

A quiet “um” was all Tony heard.

“Peter, are you hurt?” Tony asked. “Seriously, hand to Iron Man, do you need an ambulance?”

“You’re now positioning your Iron Giant 2.0 as a god?” Peter said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. However, Tony did not find Peter’s ability to joke as a sign he maybe wasn’t in too dire condition, because if Tony knew anything, it’s that Peter would evade and minimize himself to death with ease.

If anything, that was Peter Parker's real life super power.

“Peter, please,” Tony pleaded, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Are you seriously injured?”

“No, I’m okay—mostly. Probably.” Tony took a deep breath and fought the urge to yell or punch something. “I just,” Peter continued, “I, uh, fell, and I just don’t think I can get back to the train my myself and…”

“And what?”

“Well, it probably looks worse than it is, and I just don’t want May to worry and so I was wondering if maybe I could stay with you. For a while.”  

“You fell? Did you trip and scrape yourself up or something?” Tony asked.

“No, um, not quite,” Peter responded.

“Peter, please just tell me what happened.”

“I fell from a third-floor fire escape.”

“Oh my god,” was all Tony managed to say. “And no one’s come to help you?”

“It’s pretty quiet, I’m in an alley somewhere.”

“Did you try screaming?”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Peter said and Tony almost did yell that time. “Or attract someone who’s not interested in helping,” Peter added quietly, and Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Fuck, Peter, give me a second, I’ll see if I can track your phone, okay? Just—give me a minute,” Tony said as he went back over to find Steve, who was watching him, worriedly. “I’ll call you right back.”

“Wait—can you st—” Peter asked, but the words cut off.

“What’s that Pete? I think the signal must be bad.”

“It’s… fine…never…mind,” Peter said, the connection choppy.

“Okay, I’ll call you right back, okay? I mean it. Talk to you soon,” Tony said as he hung up the phone.

“Hey, sorry Steve, I’m going to have to go,” Tony said, taking his phone away from his ear to open a browser. “I’ll have to beat you next week.”

“Is everything alright?”

Tony ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know, I have this friend who has an awful knack for getting himself into trouble, apparently.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, probably—wait, you didn’t happen to drive here, did you?”

“No, I can’t drive,” Steve said. “But I live a couple blocks from here and my neighbor has a car that she’s offered to let me borrow before. I can call and ask if we can run over and pick it up.”

“Could you?” Tony asked without even thinking it might be the kind of too nice offer that you’re at least supposed to try and reject once. “That would be great—it’s going to take me a few minutes to hack into this site anyway, but my driver wouldn’t get here for at least twenty minutes and I have a feeling this isn’t the kind of situation I shouldn’t try and navigate via cab.”

“You’re _hacking_ a website?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, well, Pete doesn’t have a phone with the best GPS technology, so I can’t just hack a find my phone app. I’m having to go about it the slightly more old-fashioned way,” Tony explained.

“Does this website have anything to do with law enforcement?” Steve asked.

“Do you really want to know?” Tony asked as he continued to focus on the task at hand. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m not really doing the hacking, my A.I. Jarvis is.”

Steve sighed, looking conflicted.

“I’ll go give her a call and ask if she can meet us outside with the keys, alright? Be back in a minute,” he said instead.

Tony nodded absentmindedly and continued to watch as Jarvis pulled up a map, zeroing in slowly onto the location of Peter’s cell phone.

“Got it!” Tony announced to know one in particular.

“Good, Sharon is actually driving the car over to us right now,” Steve said, appearing in front of Tony.

“Well great. What are we waiting for then?” Tony asked, feeling antsy, a nervous tingling having taken over his body.

Steve shrugged and together they made their way out of the bowling alley. They waited on the curb together before a car pulled up and Steve approached it, Tony following.

“See, when you told me a friend wanted to borrow my car, I was like, um, and sat there trying to figure out if I’d actually be able to come up with a way to say no to you,” the woman began to rant to Steve as she got out of the passenger seat. “But then you tell me the friend you made through your bowling league Tony Stark, yes that Tony Stark, wants to borrow it for some kind of emergency, and I was just so what-the-fuck that I just said yes. Of course it wasn’t till I was on my way here that I realized I should have played this situation better—offered to rent it to you for a million dollars or something,” she said, looking over at Tony now and tossing him the keys.

“Huh, a million is a bit steep,” Tony said once the woman finished her tirade. “But then again, someone I’m very fond of is lying potentially dying in an alley somewhere, so you probably could have extorted me a solid few grand at least,” Tony shrugged as he made to get into the car, sliding in quickly.

“Fuck,” the woman muttered. “Hey, Cap, next time you’re bowling with a billionaire, do you think you could mention that to me?”

Steven smiled a bit sympathetically and shrugged.

“Thanks Sharon, we really appreciate it,” he said, offering her a quick kiss on the cheek before making his way around the car to get into the passenger seat.

“Could you at least put some gas in it before you bring it back? Maybe run it through a car wash?” Sharon shouted, her voice muffled from outside the car as Tony started up the car. “Or hell, maybe just have it reupholstered? Or have the tired changed?” Tony heard her call out as he pulled into the street.

The for a few minutes there was relative silence and Tony made his way, light to light, up 9th Street.

Traffic was slow though, even when there weren’t many other cars around, and the size of Brooklyn grew in Tony’s mind and the minutes ticked by and with it all Tony’s nerves grew.

“Well, she seems nice,” Tony said after a few minutes, unable to just sit with the feelings anymore. 

“She is,” Steve nodded:

”Why’d she call you ‘Cap’?” he asked.

“Ah you caught that,” he sighed. “It’s a nickname of sorts. Short for Captain America, because I’m a good old patriotic American boy, or something,” Steve replied. “That was never even my rank or anything though.”

“Huh, no I get it,” Tony nodded, strumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s fitting and has a nice ring,”

“Tony,” Steve asked. “Are you alright?”

Tony felt his face contort into the image of a reassuring smile, even though he didn’t feel very reassured at all.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Just worried, of course. But he’ll be fine,” Tony responded.

”Tony,” Steve said like he wanted to say something meaningful, but Tony cut him off.

“Well Cap,” Tony said quickly. “You wanna navigator?” Tony tossed Steve his phone.

“Sure,” Steve said, taking a look at the map. “Doesn’t look like he’s too far away.”

“I know, it’s the only reason I haven’t completely lost my shit,” Tony said passively, not really even to Steve. “Would you actually call him back for me? I'd feel better if I were talking to him.”

“Oh, wait, what’s happening?” Steve asked suddenly.

“What do you mean, what’s happening?” Tony asked, his heart skipping a beat.

“Your friend is waiting for us to pick him up right? He should be waiting for us?” Steve said. Tony turned to look at him as he pulled up to yet another stop light.

“Yeah, Steve, he’s supposed to be waiting for us. He said he could barely move.”

“Well the dot, the one that’s supposed to represent your friends location. It isn’t, uh, supposed to be moving then," Steve asked. "Right?”

For a second, Tony’s entire world seemed to freeze and he snatched the phone out of Steve’s hand.

“No, Steve," he said quietly. "It’s definitely not supposed to be moving.”

A horn blared behind them, signally the light had changed, and Tony stepped on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A real cliff hanger? In MY fic?


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tony,” Steve said. “Are you okay?”
> 
> Tony was not okay, but Steve, as nice as he was, was a friend from a bowling league that he had know for only a couple months.
> 
> And not someone to fall apart in front of.

Tony’s mind span with worry. Different visions of disaster filled his mind over and over again—

_Peter, attacked while lying hurt and defenseless in an alley somewhere. His stuff stolen and him left for dead._

_Peter, lured into accepting help from someone with bad intentions, stuffed into the back of a car and taken away to be tortured, assaulted, killed._

_Peter, his relationship with Tony somehow discovered by some sort of gang or mob or mafia or international terrorist organization, and him kidnapped and being held at ransom for Tony’s fortune._

“Tony,” Steve said. “Are you okay?”

Tony was not okay, but Steve, as nice as he was, was a friend from a bowling league that he had know for only a couple months.

And not someone to fall apart in front of.

“Fine,” Tony muttered, trying to focus on the road ahead. _Get to Peter first, panic later,_ he tried to convince himself, although his chest didn’t seem to want to agree. “Just keep navigating, please,” Tony said, tossing Steve back the phone that he’d been clutching against the steering wheel, watching the little dot slowly move across the screen out of the corner of his eye.

Tony could feel the concerned skepticism emanating from Steve, but Tony ignored it and Steve sighed.

“Okay, you’re going to want to turn right in four blocks,” Steve said, before calling out “Wait!”

Tony almost slammed on the breaks in the middle of the road. Thankfully instead he did so a few moments later at a red light instead of in the middle of moving traffic.

“What?” he asked.

“Your friend, is his name Peter?”

“Yeah,” Tony responded.

“Well he just sent you a text. He says that he’s actually alright and that we don’t have to come because he found a bus stop and is going to go over to his friend Ned’s for the night.”

Tony closed his eyes slowly before opening them up again.

“Give me the phone,” he said, feeling far too calm.

Steve handed Tony back the phone and Tony found Peter’s contact and pressed call, putting the phone on speaker.

It took an annoying number of rings for the other man to answer.

The light turned green and Tony started driving again before Peter finally picked up.

“Tony?” Peter answered, “Did you get my text? Sorry for bothering you before, but you don’t need—” Peter began to ramble, but Tony cut him off.

“I swear to god, Pete,” Tony said, “If you get on a fucking bus after falling several stories I’m going to build you a padded room in my tower and lock you in there. Your aunt can come visit all she wants, but fucking hell, Pete, you can’t do this to me!”

“I—” Peter stuttered, clearly not sure what to say, “Did you really just threaten to lock me away in a tower? And you keep accusing me of rom-com tropes when you’ve jumped straight into a fairy tale?”

Tony laughed, but it was a curt, barking, “Ha!”

“Don’t you dare divert this conversation, baby,” Tony said, “Cause I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes living in an action movie where you’re a bond girl!”

“What?”

“You die, Peter!”

There was silence for a few moments.

“There are a lot of implications in that comparison other than death, Tony,” Peter said, finally.

Tony could have screamed. The other man probably had a concussion, that had to be it. He was delirious. That would explain where this inappropriately timed wit was coming from.

But then again, Peter had always been like this, hadn’t he? Constantly rewriting the rules, beating Tony at games that Tony had never even found anyone to play with him before, none the less for Tony to lose. And then acting dumb when Tony tried to call him out on it, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“I think exploring them would count as talking about us,” Tony said.

Tony heard Peter sigh.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” he said. “I was just—I was scared.”

That admission made Tony soften.

“It’s fine Pete,” Tony said. “I was scared too,” he added softly.

“Are you, are you already coming to get me?”

Tony shook his head. _This boy._

“Yeah, Pete,” Tony said, “If you just stay put we’ll be there in less than ten minutes.”

“Oh, alright,” Peter breathed. “Good.” There was a pause, and then, “Tony?” Peter asked, his voice sounding small.

“Yeah?”

“I, uh—” Peter stumbled. “Never mind.”

“Peter, you can tell me.”

“I scraped myself up a bit,” Peter said quickly, and Tony’s brow knit.

“Oh, Pete, I’ll take you home and get you cleaned up, no problem,” Tony said. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?” Tony clarified, giving Peter another shot to say whatever was really on his mind.

“Yeah—I—yeah. I’ll let you focus on driving. See you in a few minutes.”

“Alright, just hang on,” Tony said, but the line clicked dead and Tony sighed.

Tony opened back up the tracking map and handed the phone back to Steve.

It wasn’t hard to miss the look on Steve’s face, like he wanted to ask questions but was trying to be respectful and wasn’t nosy enough to.

“So, that was Peter,” Tony said.

“I could tell,” Steve responded. “You say his name a lot,” he added.

“I met him a few months ago,” Tony elaborated, although he wasn’t quite sure why. “He’s kind of a genius but doesn’t really have the resources to live up to his potential. I’ve been letting him use my lab to work on this project. We’re both designing—” Tony paused. “BattleBots.”

“BattleBots?” Steve asked.

“Like robots that fight each other to the death. Although I’m me and he’s—well I don’t have a clue what he’s working on but whatever it is it’s got to be ridiculous—so a little more high-tech than your garden-variety remote-controlled hunk of metal with a pellet gun and a bayonet attached.”

“Right,” Steve said, clearly not quite satisfied or entirely sure what to make of the information.

“And I’ve never slept with him,” Tony added bluntly, inevitably getting to the point since that’s what everyone always seemed to think.

Steve seemed to choke a bit at Tony’s frankness.

“I, uh, didn’t say you had,” Steve said awkwardly.

“It’s what everyone thinks,” Tony shrugged. “I assume you are also included in everyone.”

“I actually find myself excluded from everyone a lot, so I guess that’s refreshing,” Steve shrugged. “But, you uh, did call him ‘baby,’ so I could see how that might be confusing.”

“I call everyone ‘baby.’ I’ve definitely called you baby or something similar,” Tony shrugged.

“This was different. You use endearments condescendingly a lot, but this wasn’t like that,” Steve pointed out.

“Hm,” Tony said. Because of course Steve was right, he called Peter things like baby a little too fondly—but always careful to skirt that line. That I’m Tony Stark and call everyone endearments line. So that Peter hopefully wouldn’t quite be able to tell.

Although he wasn’t sure what he was accomplishing by trying to keep Peter from being able to tell. Because of course he kind of hoped Peter could tell.

Even if they couldn’t talk about it, apparently, Tony lived for their little game of cat and mouse. It would be more fun if instead of a game of cat and mouse they were living in the alternate reality where instead of friendly enemies Tom and Jerry were gay lovers—but alas.

“Just turn right up here and then he should be on the corner,” Steve instructed, pulling Tony from his thoughts.

“Alright,” Tony said and did as Steve instructed. As he turned, he could see Peter come into view, standing alone on the street corner.

Tony pulled up along the curb and rolled down Steve’s window, his side of the car closer to the curb.

“Hey there stranger,” he called out.

Tony watched as Peter took a limping step over to the car and in an instant, Tony was opening his door and stepping out.

“Here, why don’t you sit up front,” Steve said. “I’ll get in back.”

Peter looked surprised as he saw Steve but seemed to recover quickly enough.

“Oh, no sir, that’s alright.”

“Really, man, I insist,” Steve said, holding open the door and gesturing inside.

“Could you two please not have a battle of politeness and both just get in the car?” Tony called out, feeling suddenly anxious again. He thought all the feelings of worry he’d been feeling would go away once he’d gotten to Peter, but instead he just felt like he was only halfway across a minefield.

Steve and Peter seemed to have a stand off for a few more moments before finally Peter ducked down and slid into the car. Steve shut the door behind him and then got in back.

Once Peter was situated, Tony immediately turned his attention to the younger man, reaching out to lay a hand on his thigh.

“Are you alright?” Tony said earnestly, gently giving Peter’s leg a squeeze, “Seriously.”

“My knees and hands are a little scraped up,” Peter said, turning over his hands to show Tony bloody palms. Tony clicked on the overhead light before looking down to the other man’s knees to see that he’d managed to tear holes right through his jeans, the tears torn fabric blood stained and his knees covered in scabs of drying blood. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were out with someone,” Peter began to apologize, “I thought it was just your secret hobby night. If I had known I never would have—” Peter continued, but Tony cut him off.

“Don’t you dare, Pete,” Tony said. “I’m glad you called me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Pete. It’s all alright.”

“Okay,” Peter said quietly.

“So I guess I should introduce you to my friend Steve,” Tony said.

Tony watched as Peter turned, a little too slowly, clearly in a bit of pain, back to look at Steve. He then offered the other man a slightly pained looking smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Peter said. “Sorry to disturb your evening,” Peter apologized again.

“Oh no, don’t worry about it. I just hope you can get all fixed up and healed up soon,” Steve said, and the care fell silent. While there was clearly about a thousand things any one of them could probably talk about, both Peter and Steve were inevitably the kind of people to interrogate people with awkward silence rather than just actually talk about things they were curious about.

“So, I’m going to text a car to meet us back at Steve’s apartment, okay?” Tony announced.

“Sounds good,” Steve said, and Peter smiled and nodded, and Tony winced at the politeness of it all.

“How about some music for the ride,” Peter, Tony said, fumbling around until he found an aux chord in the cupholder and connecting one end into the stereo and another into his phone. “I’ve got a subscription to just about every streaming service, plus a bunch of music downloaded,” Tony said as he handed Peter the phone. “Go wild.”

“Oh um,” Peter said, looking down at Tony’s phone, “Okay,” he said, and Tony pulled away from the curb.

They sat in silence for an astonishingly long time, Peter taking ages rifling through music.

The streets of Brooklyn were quiet now, apparently turned late enough that the roads were much emptier.

“You ever gonna play something, DJ?” Tony asked eventually.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Peter said, quickly clicking on the screen a few more times until a song came on.

_You torched a Saab like a pile of leaves…_

“Vampire Weekend?” Tony asked, questioningly.

“See,” Peter said instantly and a bit defesively, “This is why it took so long to pick!”

“What?” Tony said, a little surprised at the outburst.

“Picking music is so hard,” Peter said, a little softer. “What song someone decides to play can tell so much about a person.”

Tony furrowed his brow.

“And so what does Vampire Weekend say?” he asked.

“Vampire Weekend is like a neutral cool,” Peter said.

“Neutral cool?” Steve chimed in and asked before Tony could.

“Yeah, like Vampire Weekend is kind of cool—I mean in that way alternative bands are categorically, but now that it’s not 2010 anymore and they haven’t released anything in ages, they’re a little more boring, I guess. Almost too familiar. So a kind of neutral cool.”

“So basically the band you could think of that would reveal the absolute least about you?” Tony translated.

A beat of silence.

“Um, yeah,” Peter said. “I guess. I can put something else on, if you have any suggestions.”

Tony laughed, not sure what else to do anymore.

His nerves had calmed down a bit now that Peter was safely at his side being patently insufferable, but if was giving way to exhaustion.

“Oh no Pete, and risk you possibly be able to psychoanalyze personal information about me? No way,” Tony teased, ready to volley back Peter some ridiculousness after what Peter had served up that evening. “Keep them on shuffle baby, cause you’ve apparently made your choice.”

“Oh,” Peter said, sounding a little regretfully.

“Oh, don’t let Tony bully you,” Steve interjected. “I’m always so behind on music and I at least know who they are,” he said reaching up to pat Peter on the shoulder. “Picking something neutral cool is smart. You could have stuck us in the car with some unbearable, repetitive pop song.”

“Thanks,” Peter said softly, but Tony could feel Peter’s eyes on him, searchingly.

Steve, though, seemed satisfied in his effort to diffuse the situation, and Tony watched in the rearview mirror as he leaned back into his seat and began to quietly sing along.

Meanwhile, Peter pulled his bloody knees up to his chest, looking awfully small.

They pulled up to a stop light, but the intersection was empty. They waited for nothing.

Tony sighed.

“Vampire Weekend is just fine,” Tony said. “Upbeat at least. If you’d chose some other neutral cool group I could have easily become concerned you were depressed, I guess. Playing Skinny Love on repeat or something probably would send a message.”

“Yeah,” Peter said softly, and they fell back into silence, the music filling the car, the light still red.

 _“Lord knows I haven’t tried/I’ll take my stand/one last time. Forget the protocol/I’ll take your hand/right in mine_ ,” Steve sang along quietly in the back seat.

 _Oh fuck it,_ Tony found himself thinking as he pressed down on the gas pedal, running the red.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You still think I’m cool though, right?” Tony asked. “Even though I joined a bowling league?”
> 
> Peter let out a laugh.
> 
> “Oh, the coolest,” Peter said, not terribly convincingly.

“Um, Tony, can I ask you a question?” Peter asked.

They were sitting together in the back of a car. They’d dropped Steve off and returned Sharon’s car and in turn were soon after picked up by one of Tony’s personal drivers in a shiny black car and were now en route back to Stark Tower.

“Alright, shoot,” Tony said.

“Have you—has your secret thing—the thing you do in the evenings sometimes—is it bowling?” Peter asked.

Tony let out a sigh.

“How’d you figure it out?” Tony asked, but then he smiled. “Did Steve rat me out when I had my back turned?”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” Peter said quickly.

“Then how did you figure it out?”

“Um, well,” Peter said, and looked down to Tony’s feet and tilted his head a bit, “Your shoes.”

Tony looked down at his feet and only then did he realize he’d walked right out of the bowling alley, in such a rush to go rescue the apparently only slightly scraped up Peter, bowling shoes still on his feet.

Tony let out another sigh and looked up to see Peter staring back at him, offering a sympathetic look.

“You still think I’m cool though, right?” Tony asked. “Even though I joined a bowling league?”

Peter let out a laugh, although it rang a bit hollow.

“Oh, the coolest,” Peter said, not terribly convincingly. 

“In my defense though, I only stuck with the actual league for a few weeks. Everyone was completely terrible at it. Either got too drunk to throw the ball anywhere but the gutter or were too competitive but sore losers,” Tony explained. “Except Steve, of course. So we kind of formed our own mini-league, I guess.”

“Steve seems nice,” Peter said, very non-committal sounding.

“Steve is great,” Tony said. “There are very few people whose company I can really stand.”

“Hm,” Peter said, and said nothing else, and Tony’s brow knit.

“Are you feeling alright, Pete?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “I just,” he began and then sighed. “If you want to see Steve more, you’re welcome to, you know. I can do some work from home, you don’t need to supervise me in your lab multiple nights a week.”

“I see Steve once a week at least, Pete,” Tony said, not sure what this was about. “Plus I’ve been over to his apartment or gotten brunch and shit on the weekends when you’re working.”

“Oh,” Peter said, sounding surprised. “Okay.”

“I really am trying to be a normal person with a life, you know, Pete,” Tony said. “Outside of my obsession with a giant metal robot suit and hanging out in a basement lab with a twenty-one-year-old.”

“Right,” Peter said, his face going flat and distinctly unreadable.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tony asked again.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter repeated, shaking his head like he was physically trying to shake himself out of something. “Sorry, I must just be tired. Did I thank you for coming to pick me up?” Peter asked, looking over at Tony, his eyes wide and earnest.

“I don’t remember,” Tony shrugged. “Knowing you though, probably.”

Peter said nothing but offered Tony a gentle smile before turning to stare out the window.

They sat in silence for a few long minutes, Peter seeming frustratingly at peace, while Tony found himself stewing a bit.

He wished he could tell what Peter was thinking. Tony usually prided himself in being the kind of person who could read others pretty well, if he cared enough to pay attention that is. But Peter, as always, was different.

“Hey, Pete?” Tony found himself asking before he could second guess himself.

“Yeah, Tony?” Peter responded, still looking out the car window.

“Are you ever going to tell me anything?”

“What?” Peter said, turning back to look at Tony with a furrowed brow. “I tell you things all the time.”

“No you don’t,” Tony said. “I mean, yeah, sure, you talk, and you’ll answer questions about school and your favorite food and what book you’re reading. But you never really tell me anything, at least not anything important.”

“I don’t know what there is to tell,” Peter said, shrugging and hugging his arms across his stomach.

“I think you do,” Tony said simply. “But I don’t want to have to ask, I just wish you felt comfortable telling me.”

Peter wasn’t looking at Tony. His head hunched forwards a bit and his brow was knit. He tightened his grip around himself protectively.

“What makes you think I owe you anything like that?” he asked, quietly. So quiet, Tony wasn’t even sure he was talking to him.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Tony said, dropping his voice down low to match. “I just, again, I wish you wanted to tell me.”

“Do you tell me everything?” Peter asked.

Tony pursed his lips in thought.

“Yeah,” Tony said, the realization not as scary as it might have been in other circumstances. “The bowling and Steve are basically the last two secrets I was keeping. And only because I was embarrassed. Because, I mean, it’s bowling,” Tony tried to joke, but Peter continued to stare down at his lap passively.

“But I’ve told you about Iron Man,” Tony decided to continue. “I’ve mentioned my therapist. You’ve met Bruce. You’ve met Pepper in passing a few times now, I think. I talk to you about work, even the Stark A.I., which is supposed to be a secret for another month. And, well, you seem to have read every secret that’s not a secret because of who I am, and the money people can make off of them, whether or not they have all the details—the dead parents, the drug issues, the bisexuality. So I didn’t even have to tell you. Not that I mind you knowing, really,” Tony shrugged.

Peter still barely even twitched, Tony wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. He just stared ahead, eyes wide but empty.

“If anything I wish I could have told you more myself,” Tony continued, softer again now. “Had a chance to get a sense of what you think of me,” Tony sighed. “But how about this, Pete,” Tony bartered suddenly. “If you want me to prove it, ask me anything. I won’t take a pass.”

Peter opened his mouth and then shut it.

There was a long moment of silence.

“I—” Peter opened his mouth again, this time words stumbling out. “I don’t—” he stammered.

“I mean it Pete,” Tony said, reaching out to rest a hand on Peter’s shoulder so that the other man would turn to look at him. “Anything. No rules. No exceptions. Anything, and I’ll answer.”

“Do you think I’m pathetic?” Peter asked quickly, the words rushing out of his mouth.

Tony froze.

That wasn’t at all what he expected Peter to say.

He’d expected maybe a kind of jokingly extreme question, trying to call his bluff maybe. A “What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done?” or something. Something in the vein of Peter’s traditional use-humor-and-ridiculousness-to-divert-attention method.

Or he’d thought maybe Peter would say nothing. To admit that Tony was apparently an open book with him. And that would probably be vulnerable enough for Peter.

But he hadn’t expected something like this.

Then he watched as Peter sighed, seeming to completely deflate on the exhale.

“Never mind, I already know,” he said quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest and turning back to look out the window, resting his head on his knees.

And Tony realized he’d taken Tony’s silence as confirmation. And Tony’s heart broke.

It was times like this where Tony remembered that Peter was only twenty-one. Not in an annoying way. Not in a disappointing way. Not even in an immature way.

But in that heartbreaking way that no one ever seemed to grow out of, but only morphed with time.

He was only twenty-one. So young and fighting for a place in a world that he probably thinks holds no love for him.

And Tony was only thirty-five. Growing older but still so clueless and lost. Supposed to have his shit together. Supposed to have answers by now.

And instead he was sitting in the back of a car with a twenty-one-year-old he’d been looking to for answers, when the other man probably barely could barely tell his own life apart from a tragedy.

It was a heartbreaking thing, to be human.

In an instant he unclicked his seatbelt and slid into the middle seat, closer to Peter.

“Hey,” Tony said gently as he reached out to put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I need you to look at me.”

Peter turned his head, but didn’t unfurl, his head still resting on his knees.

“I don’t think that,” he said, firmly. “How could you think that I think that?”

“I—” Peter said, sniffing quietly.

_Oh, fuck._

“Peter, can we try something?”

Peter looked up a Tony, alarmed.

“What?”

“Relax,” Tony chuckled. “Just come here,” he said, opening his arms.

Peter looked at Tony as if he’d suddenly transformed into an alien.

“You want me to…” Peter asked.

“Hug me,” Tony said. “If you want to. But I’ve read that human contact is really good for you, and I don’t imagine either of us are getting enough right now,” Tony explained. “If you want to of course,” Tony added, quickly losing confidence and feeling ridiculous the longer Peter stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “I’m just putting it on the table as an option.”

“It wouldn’t be weird?” Peter asked, his face scrunched in that kind of cute way it did sometimes, and Tony felt a bit lighter at the sight of it.

“Oh, I mean, probably, particularly after this conversation,” Tony said with a sympathetic half smile. “But I think it’s something we might get better at, with practice.”

“And it’s okay though?” Peter asked.

Tony sighed.

“Bring it in, Pete.”

For a second, Tony began to feel an awkward sting of rejection. Then Peter began to unfurl, slowly. He lifted his head and his arms fell from his knees. Then, he just kind of fell over into Tony, his body collapsing against Tony’s chest with a soft thud.

It wasn’t really a hug—Peter’s arms were still held close to his body. And Peter was leaning up against one of Tony’s arms, so he couldn’t move to properly embrace him, so instead he could only move his free arm to reach up and rub Peter’s forearm.

But it was something.

And Tony could lean his head forward a bit into Peter’s shoulder, sort of nuzzling into his neck. And it was nice.

“By the way,” Tony whispered. “I think that you are a lot of things, but pathetic has never been one of them.”

Tony didn’t expect Peter to say anything in response to this.

So it was a surprise when Peter asked, “Do you want to see the project I’ve been working on?”

“You mean your BattleBot?” Tony asked.

“Not really a BattleBot,” Peter said. “But yeah.”

“If it’s not really a BattleBot, can I ask what it is?”

“It’s, uh, well,” Peter sighed. “It’s kind of like your Iron Man.”

“You’re telling me you’ve been building some kind of super suit too?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said softly. “I guess I have,” he admitted. “Is that okay, right? You haven’t somehow bought up the patent of the concept of a super hero?”

Tony shook his head and he found himself laughing out loud.

“I fucking love you, Pete,” Tony said. “Of course that’s what you’ve been working on,” Tony shook his head, pulling his arm out from under Peter so he could properly wrap his arms around him and pull him into his chest. “Of course it is.”


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter looked skeptical.
> 
> “Yeah, I mean, lots of things could happen, technically speaking. A vortex to another dimension could open right above us and New York City could be nearly obliterated by an army of aliens. That doesn’t mean it’s very likely.”
> 
> “Yeah, but I am a step closer to being on the bad side of actual terrorists than a lot of people,” Tony said. “Or is the only reason you’ve been able to stand me this long is because you managed to make yourself forget I’ve made a fortune on murder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character development and plot are like the same thing, right?

Peter sat on the worktop in Tony’s basement lab. Tony stood before him, one of Peter’s wrists held in his hand while he inspected the scrapes on Peter’s palms.

“This might sting a bit,” Tony said, as he began to dab hydrogen peroxide into the wounds.

“Yes I know,” Peter said, “The catalase in blood attacks hydrogen peroxide and breaks it down into water and oxygen, causing the well-known fizz and sting,” Peter said like he was reciting something he’d memorized from a textbook and then hissing as Tony applied a freshly soaked cotton ball to a particularly raw wound. “But did you know hydrogen peroxide probably isn’t the best thing to apply to minor wounds as while it is an antiseptic, it more often disrupts healthy tissue and prolongs the healing process?” Peter said, and Tony immediately took a step back. “Soap and water are probably more effective,” he finished.

“Then why are you letting me apply it?” Tony exclaimed. “Making a fool out of me and damaging you further?”

Peter shrugged.

“You were all puffed up and excited about playing doctor,” he said, offering a crooked, meek smile, “It was kind of cute. I didn’t want to stop you.”

_Nope,_ Tony thought. _It’s too easy. You’re not even going to think it,_ Tony bartered with himself _. You have a good thing going right now, stop being a perv,_ Tony tried to convince himself.

The thought came anyway.

_Oh, I’ll show you how to “play doctor,” Peter._

Tony quickly shook away the thought, which was so obviously not particularly helpful or appropriate.

Then he realized Peter had in fact called him cute, and it didn’t even feel condescending at all and a different thread of half-formed and incoherent thoughts ran through his mind, which would best be likened to a string of exclamation points.

Tony opened his mouth to say something, although what he was going to say was likely going to be a surprise to even him, but then Peter spoke up.

“Anyway,” he said, hopping off the counter and heading over to the labs sink to wash his hands, “You said you had some shorts I could borrow?”

“Oh sure,” Tony said, going over to grab the athletic shorts that he’d had had brought down earlier and walking over to hand them to Peter as he finished washing his hands.

Peter took the shorts and just stared at Tony eyebrows raised. Tony stared back.

“What?” he asked.

“Turn around,” Peter said.

The smile formed on Tony’s lips instantly and he rolled his eyes.

“Of course, Pete,” Tony said, spinning on his heel to face the other way and leave Peter his privacy. Tony heard the sink running, presumably as Peter cleaned off his knees.

“Alright, I’m good,” Peter said a minute later, and Tony turned to see Peter carefully pulling his arms out of his hoodie, so he stood before Tony in just shorts and t-shirt. God, his knees looked awful—all raw and red with scabby blood forming over the tops. It was such a brutal sight that it didn’t even inspire an inappropriate blow job joke to form in the back of Tony’s mind. “Can you help me bandage my hands and knees?” Peter said.

“Course, Pete,” Tony said, going to go grab some gauze, a roll of bandages, and Vaseline from the already opened first aid kit.

Peter placed his hoodie and jeans down on the worktop and hopped back up, holding out his hands.

“Now, you aren’t going to tell me that putting Vaseline over a wound to keep it moisturized is actually harmful, right?”

Peter shrugged.

“I don’t know everything about everything,” he said. “Although probably. It’s good as a general rule to assume that everything you think you know is wrong.”

“Huh,” Tony said as he carefully wrapped bandages around Peter’s hands, one at a time, as he finished dressing the wounds. “I typically assume I’m always right.”

Peter took his freshly bandaged hand and used it to lightly punch Tony in the shoulder.

“Hey, you look like a fighter with your hands all wrapped like that,” Tony said.

“Yeah, well,” Peter said, cringing as he slowly opened back up his hand, waggling his fingers around a bit while looking at his hands, “I don’t feel particularly bad ass, not after eating the pavement and having to call someone to rescue me.”

“I’ll rescue you any time, Pete,” Tony said honestly while he began to work on bandaging the other man’s knees. “Although, I don’t suppose I’d mind if you did try to avoid needing it. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“You did?” Peter asked, his voice squeaking a bit and taking on that what Tony had always interpreted to be an _oh-shit-I’m-so-ashamed-of-being-such-an-idiot_ tone.

“Yeah, I was imagining you kidnapped by some kind of terrorist organization, nothing left of you except a video mailed to the tower showing you on your knees surrounded by masked guards before you were executed.”

“What?”

“It could happen.”

Peter looked skeptical.

“Yeah, I mean, lots of things could happen, technically speaking. A vortex to another dimension could open right above us and New York City could be nearly obliterated by an army of aliens. That doesn’t mean it’s very likely.”

“Yeah, but I am a step closer to being on the bad side of actual terrorists than a lot of people,” Tony said. “Or is the only reason you’ve been able to stand me this long is because you managed to make yourself forget I’ve made a fortune on murder.”

Peter looked a little shocked. Then puzzled.

“I thought it was _defense_ to you?” Peter said. His tone wasn’t accusatory like it had been when they’d talked about this before, what was now months ago when they were first getting to know each other. But it was so matter-of-fact, so plainly said that it made Tony feel a little gut-punched.

Then a silence fell between them for a moment. It was the kind of quiet though that was deafening. It made Tony’s ears ring.

“Missiles aren’t really defense, are they?” Tony said quietly. Maybe if we were being invaded, but there’s no war here.”

“Oh,” Peter said, his tone now a little sarcastic but again not harsh, “Didn’t someone somewhere along the way give you the speech about the war on democracy? About the war on American values?”

Tony smiled gently and sighed.

“And you thought I thought you were pathetic?” Tony said, shaking his head. “Twenty-one-year-old kid comes into my life and does nothing but tell me off. Me. Tony Fucking Stark. And still I’m following you around like you hang the moon— when if it were anybody else everything should have been the other way around.”

And it should have, in every other universe. Peter should have been some kind of doe eyed fan, any other instincts of confidence or douche-baggery over-ridden in the face of a man who was supposed to be one of the most powerful men in the world. People who treated other people like dirt would suddenly treat Tony like an idol, like a best friend, like whatever they thought would win his favor.

Peter though had never cared.

“I—what?” Peter stuttered.

“You want to know why I’ve done pretty much everything I’ve ever done, Pete?”

Peter didn’t answer, but Tony didn’t really intend on waiting for him to.

“Because I’ve felt powerless.” Tony watched as Peter’s eyes blew wide at the admission. “I know, me, Tony Stark? Powerless? Trying to sell you some sad-little-rich boy tale,” Tony chuckled. “You don’t even need to call me on it, I know.

“But it’s still how I’ve always felt. Powerless to do anything but take up my father’s legacy. Powerless to do anything but live up to a reputation that was more of an expectation than anything else. And now here I am thirty-five and living up in my literal fucking tower, and I’m still building some kind of an apocalypse suit because I still feel out of control and powerless.”

Tony fell silent. This time it was so quiet Tony wasn’t even sure if he could still hear anymore.

Then, finally, Peter spoke.

“Why don’t you put on my hoodie, and I can show you something?”

Tony’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t—well it frankly wasn’t a response to his raw, vulnerability at all.

“Your hoodie?” he said, unintelligently.

“Yeah,” Peter said, picking it up and handing it to Tony, “Put it on.”

Tony cautiously took the red hoodie and shrugged it on, pulling it over his head. He and Peter were roughly the same size, Peter only a bit leaner, and it fit comfortably. Tony ignored the tiny instant of joy he felt when he realized the garment smelled like Peter.

But then, after another moment, Tony began to notice something was a little off about the hoodie. It was a little too heavy, the elastic cuffs at the wrist were a little stiff.

“Okay,” Peter said. “So now what you need to do is hold out your arm, like you’re aiming it at something,” he instructed.

“Like what?” Tony asked, lifting up his arms to examine the sleeves closer.

“No, no, no,” Peter said, hopping down from the worktop and coming over to Tony to grab ahold of his arms. “Stop that,” he scolded. “I’ll tell you how it works after you see what it does. Now arm out and aim anywhere. Just a wall is fine,” Peter said, guiding Tony’s arm up so his hand was pointed at the corner of the room. 

“Now, what you want to do is fold your ring finger and middle finger down like you’re pressing a button on your palm. Kind of like I love you in sign language,” Peter said, tapping on the knuckles of the aforementioned fingers on Tony’s hand before demonstrating the gesture. “And make sure your palm is turned up,” Peter said, turning over Tony’s palm. Then Tony began to lower his fingers as instructed. “Wait! Wait!” Peter called, and Tony froze. “Let me get out of the way!” Peter said. Then he stepped around Tony, so he was standing behind him now. He still kept an arm out though, lightly holding onto Tony’s elbow.

“Okay,” Peter said, “Now.”

On the command, Tony made the gesture Peter had demonstrated and instantly something came shooting out of his wrist.

Something that looked like a white string went flying across the room, anchoring itself to the wall with a web like pattern. Tony’s hang flung open in surprise and immediately the connection of the string to his wrist broke, the string falling limp.

“Holy fuck! What is this?”

“Try it again,” Peter said calmly. “This time though, aim it at the ceiling and don’t open your hand and instead give it a tug.”

Carefully, feeling a little disoriented with surprise, Tony did as he was instructed, shooting the string and then tugging on it after it tethered itself to the ceiling.

Tony was surprised to find that what looked as delicate as a cobweb was surprisingly strong. It didn’t tear as Tony tugged on it, no matter how hard he tugged.

“A single string is strong enough to hold a couple hundred pounds, although multiple webs can obviously be combined to hold more,” Peter explained.

“Peter, what on earth?” Tony found himself asking, not sure at all what to say.

“Let me show you what it’s supposed to do, before you say anything else. Then I’ll answer all the questions you want, let you try to dissect it and reverse engineer it, whatever.”

Tony nodded, and Peter dropped his hold on Tony’s arm and stepped away, going over to a computer monitor and logging into the account Tony had set up for him in his computer system.

“I took some video of some of my tests,” Peter said, pulling up a video file and turning the monitor so that Tony could see. “To analyze and stuff. And just for records.

Then on the screen appeared a man in a red hoodie, who Tony assumed was Peter, but he couldn’t tell from a distance. He was standing on a window ledge a few floors about the ground and Tony’s heart beat a bit faster, even though obviously whatever was going on didn’t end in any sort of tragedy.

The camera angle was wide, Tony wasn’t sure where it was placed, but it could see the entirely of an alley, the building Peter stood on the window ledge of on one side of the frame, and another building on the left.

Then Peter jumped.

For a second, he fell, and Tony thought maybe he’d lost his mind—maybe he was seeing things. Maybe his life had become like _The Sixth Sense_ or something and Tony hadn’t realized he was now talking to a ghost.

But then Peter held out his arm and fired a string of web at the fire escape across the way. It caught just in time and Peter swung just a few feet above the ground.

Then the video cut and Peter looked back at Tony, expectantly. His face and body were held like he was an anthropomorphized shrug.

But Tony’s heart was still hammering in his chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tony found himself shouting, the fascination with the technology vanished and all that was left remaining was pure terror and an urge to tear his hair out in frustration and never let Peter out of his site again.

Peter looked at him, eyes wide and confused. He clearly hadn’t been expecting this reaction.

“What?”

“If your testing something then you can do it here! Or if the lab doesn’t work we can rent somewhere else. But fuck, if you’re doing any kind of test that involves falling from a great height, you need to have a rig set up and you in a harness and a bunch of those giant inflatable pillows on the ground and definitely at least one other person there supervising ready to call 911 if something goes wrong!”

“I had a total system failure tonight, and I’m only a little scraped up,” Peter defended, but his tone was meek at the scolding.

Tony slapped himself in the forehead and then ran a hand down his face in frustration.

“Babe, no,” Tony said, his voice pleading. Then he paused and took a breath. “Okay,” he said matter-of-factly. “No more competing secret BattleBot projects, okay? From now on, we’re going to work together on this—okay?”

Peter still looked confused, but after a second, he nodded.

“Sorry, I didn’t think—” Peter said but then stopped. “I didn’t—” he tried again. “I—” he started a third time, but just failed even faster.

Tony sighed.

“Why don’t we go upstairs and watch a movie or something?” Tony said. “Maybe order a pizza.”

After another long second, the panic confusion finally softened out of Peter’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Tony said, slinging an arm over Peter’s shoulder and guiding them in the direction of the elevator.

“If you want, you can get those funny peppers you like,” Peter offered as they waited for the elevator, and Tony’s heart warmed a bit.

“But you hate pepperoncini’s,” Tony pointed out.

Peter didn’t say anything, but Tony decided to assume the, “ _But I love you,”_ was implied.  

**Author's Note:**

> Where is this fic going? Will there be any plot? How long will it be? Will I finish it? What the fuck am I doing with my life, not in the context of this, just generally? Stay tuned to find out!


End file.
